


The City That Never Sleeps

by Martin Iceworth (Iceworth)



Series: Welcome Home [1]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade - Coteries of New York (Video Game)
Genre: Comedy, Dark Comedy, Embrace fic, Gen, Maddyverse, New York City, Nosferatu (Vampire: The Masquerade)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29001267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iceworth/pseuds/Martin%20Iceworth
Summary: Mitnick wasn't the first Nosferatu that came to the clan through infiltrating SchreckNet, and nor would he be the last. He was only following in the footsteps of Wendy Taylor, the half-Australian cybersecurity expert who decided fucking with apparent gangster-cultist druglords on their own server was a good idea.Spoiler warning: fucking with gangster-cultist druglords is a never good idea.Mitnick didn't get out alive. Neither did Wendy. The only question was, how long could she last before the Nosferatu caught up to her?
Series: Welcome Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127579
Comments: 37
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely apologise to any actual hackers who had to read me pulling shit out of my ass regarding that.
> 
> And yeah, all my vampires are either part Brit or part Aussie or full one or the other. Write what you know, you know?

Coffee. The career woman’s best friend. It might not be your reason for living, but it was certainly Wendy Taylor’s reason for existing. After a long night doing a cybersecurity freelancing gig (under the name “Michael Williams”), it was certainly the only reason Wendy hadn’t passed out, and also the only reason why she was able to pay attention to water cooler discussion long enough to discover that Nelson Mandela had won the South African election. She had to admit, she’d stopped and stared at the deliverer of _that_ particular news, just to make sure she hadn’t hallucinated.

“The times,” said Wendy, “they are a-changin’.”

That was the only comment she dared to make about _that_.

But the US was nothing if not self-centred, and conversation immediately moved on to some boneheaded thing President Clinton did that later on, Wendy would forget about entirely. Wendy politely removed herself from the conversation and went to check her email.

And then went to rip Paul a new asshole.

“Lack of funding,” she said, in front of his desk, wishing she’d thought to grab another coffee before confronting him instead of nursing the dregs of this one. Paul looked up from his computer, dead eyed. “We’re a _bank_ , for fuck’s sake.”

“Language,” said Paul. “That’s not very ladylike.”

“Ladylike my _ass_ — “

“If you want to succeed in this company, Wendy — “

“Are you not at _all_ concerned,” said Wendy, “about the strange activity I found in _the President_ _’s bank account_?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Paul. “I’ve got it all sorted out.”

“ _Really_.”

“Obviously I can’t disclose it — “

“How convenient.”

“ _But it_ _’s sorted_.” Paul looked daggers at her. Maybe if Wendy hadn’t been up half the night she wouldn’t have dared put a toe out of line; the only way a woman could survive in IT was to keep her head down and her mouth shut. But her mouth had always run away with her when she was too tired to keep it reined in. “The President isn’t concerned. Chill.”

Wendy took one last gulp of her coffee, before setting the empty mug down on Paul’s desk. He eyed it, wrinkling his nose. “Look.” Wendy pointed at him. “I tracked down the address the IP was connected to. Do you know where it leads?”

“You really didn’t have the authority to do that,” said Paul.

“I could see the IP address, therefore I had the authority. Look, it was connected to an abandoned warehouse. I had a cab drive past it last night. Is that dodgy as fuck or _what_?”

“Language!” Paul sighed, dragging his palm down his face. “Wendy, did you get any sleep at all last night? You’re not usually like this.”

“I had insomnia. But seriously, this whole thing is seriously dodgy — “

“ _We are investigating_.”

“’Lack of funds’ doesn’t sound like it — “

“’Lack of funds’ means we don’t have the funds to investigate it _the way you want us to_ ,” said Paul, removing his palm from his face. “We’re investigating. Don’t worry about it.”

Only now did Wendy’s sleep-deprived brain latch onto the implications that Paul almost certainly did not mean to impress upon her. “Right. Fine. Whatever.”

Paul peered at her suspiciously as she snatched up her mug. “You sure you got some sleep last night?”

“Not a fucking wink.” Wendy left him with that. “But I just wanted to swing by so my ass wouldn’t get fired if it turned out to be something huge. I’ll be sending you an email, of course. _‘As per our conversation this morning I will not be pursuing the mysterious IP address linked to funds missing from our president’s account_ — ‘”

“Wendy. Seriously.”

“I told you, I’m dropping it.” Wendy gave him one last wave.

Of course, she left the email her sleep-deprived self was too tactless not to mention. _Dear Paul, as per our previous discussion, I will not be pursuing the mysterious IP address that was linked to funds missing from our bank_ _’s President’s account, even though this address led to an abandoned warehouse. As you stated, the matter is being investigated, and I will not overreach any further. Yours sincerely, Wendy Taylor_.

Suck on it, Paul. An email was enough evidence of her covering her ass, whether or not it was digital.

Of course, she pursued the matter anyway. Her coworkers thought she was an airheaded idiot; let them. That meant they didn’t suspect she had a folder, named something so excruciatingly boring that even she had trouble remembering it, full of programs she wrote herself. It was easy enough to hide her activity in the bank’s network, too, so she was able to check the President’s bank account without anyone suspecting that she was completely fucking ignoring Paul’s directive to stay the hell out of it.

And oh, look! The suspiciously dodgy payments from last week had been completely wiped from his transaction history!

How interesting and unexpected!

Looked like somebody was fucking with the code. Luckily, that was easy enough for her to check. She just had to update her seeker bug for this version of the network… _et voila!_

There it was. Fucking WA45 again. Taking payments as recent as forty-five minutes ago, i.e. _after_ Paul had been alerted to the payment issues. The transactions had been covered up by a modification to the system’s code. And as before, the anti-fraud detection system had been disabled.

Again.

 _It_ _’s being investigated_ her ass!

She was going to nail Paul to the fucking wall. No way in hell that bastard didn’t know something. Shit like this was why the public was opposed to their banks going digital. The trick would be proving Paul had spoofed his IP to lead to the abandoned warehouse… if he’d had any sense, he’d have picked the IP of a library or a group of apartments. That would’ve made it much more difficult to prove. The problem was that IP addresses were spoofed on the difficult end — to be able to link any computer Paul had used to the spoofed IP, she’d need to be able to access the computer itself remotely. She wasn’t quite sure if that evidence would be allowed in court, given that she had to do a sneaky to find it, but she didn’t need to make a court case of it — she just needed enough evidence for him to be fired over.

That would be hard enough if Paul used his personal computer to do it. All he’d have to do to reset the spoofed IP was pull out the phone cord. If he ever used his landline at all, she was screwed. Hopefully he’d been dumb enough to use his work computer, which was plugged into the web 24/7. The trick was to get onto it in the first place…

But, well, what kind of cybersecurity consultant would she be if she didn’t have a shitton of personal programs at her disposal to access the other systems?

Paul’s office wasn’t far away, but she didn’t even need to go over immediately. She just needed to check in if he’d logged in to work that day and logged in early, and _a-ha_! Logged in at 7:32AM. There you go. After that, it was an easy matter of breaking into Admin access and navigating the network to find Paul’s personal files, and then install one of her programs remotely on Paul’s machine. Not an easy task, it would take a while, but it was possible. First she had to install the smaller file to cover up the larger transfer, and then once that was up and running, she could install the larger one without him noticing so long as he didn’t go poking around his task manager wondering why his RAM and CPU were being used up.

She didn’t think she’d find anything in his email. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check for obvious evidence in his deleted mail folder and —

Oh.

Oh, what an idiot.

What an absolute idiot.

WilhelmAugustus@schrecknet.nod wanted money, or Paul was getting cut off.

Wow.

Paul had a drug habit.

Fucking _Paul_ , the most boring person Wendy had ever met, had a drug habit.

And she hadn’t suspected a thing.

He didn’t _seem_ like the type to get hooked on drugs, nor did he seem to ever be in a state of either withdrawal or a high. But, well, the evidence was pretty difficult to deny:

—> Withdrawal isn’t pleasant for ghouls like you.

Odd insult, although come to think of it, it fitted a bit given how pale Paul was all the time. Wasn’t normal for men who wolfed down steaks as often as Paul did to look so obviously anemic.

Paul’s response was cagey:

—> The transfer is complete. I will see you tonight. Yours faithfully —

Blah, blah, blah. Smart enough to use personal email and not admit to anything she could use, but still dumb enough to access said personal email on a work computer and not think to empty his trash.

Hm.

She’d never heard of that email hosting service, though. SchreckNet? Dot _nod_ , what the fuck? A quick type into the web browser only got her a 404, but a sixth sense niggled at her and she right clicked and pressed “view source.”

And got something odd back.

The 404 was clearly a fake 404 — it didn’t lead her to another 404, it just led her to a source page full of boring-ass HTML.

Which was not supposed to happen.

Why even _do_ that? A 403 — “directory forbidden” — would have made far more sense than a false 404. Nobody would have been suspicious about a 403. Was SchreckNet covering something up?

 _Hmm_.

She could keep trawling Paul’s personal files, but this was _intriguing_. If Paul had help, it would explain how a dumbass like him was able to cover up his activity in the President’s bank account after Wendy had called it to his attention…

Wendy sat back in her chair, stroking her nonexistent beard like a Bond supervillain.

How _interesting_.

Maybe she should head into his office at some point and start looking at his floppies…

(Somebody wanted other people to think SchreckNet wasn’t a website at all. Why? She’d never heard of it, and she knew a fair bit about cybercrime, so who were they hiding from? Must be organised crime, what with the drugs, but who the fuck _were_ they? She was a nerd, not an insect, she didn’t live under a rock.)

Well. Just in case they were some branch of the fucking Mafia, she wasn’t going to fuck around with _that_ one on her work computer. Instead, she made do with downloading some of Paul’s emails and going through her day instead — doing some basic busywork, a little tech support here, running away from conversations about Nelson Mandela when they inevitably turned racist there… She removed her bugs from Paul’s computer when she was done with it, and took the opportunity to scrub the foreign bug from the network that had hidden the dodgy transactions on the President’s account. If he discovered someone had been skimming off the top of his account, so be it. Even he wasn’t so fucking rich as to not notice a hundred grand missing, and it sure wasn’t his own dodgy-ass dealings causing it — even without the emails implicating Paul, their President wasn’t so dumb to leave obvious tracks leading back to himself.

She went home by the subway that evening, as she always did. By then it had been almost 36 hours since she’d slept. She was so sleep deprived she almost stepped into one of the construction sites on her way home that had always been there — they’d meant to build a new subway station but had never quite gotten around to finishing it, and it was such a staple of the New York City landscape now her exhausted brain had mistook it for home.

By the time she actually arrived at her apartment, her excitement had built up enough that she was pretty sure she wouldn’t sleep, so instead of heading straight to bed to pass out she yanked out her phone cable instead and plugged in her computer. Dial-up’s dulcet song greeted her, with its mimicry of a dial tone, its beeps, and then its abrupt, earsplitting static.

She ran a program to spoof her IP address — almost clicked the wrong one, at first, she was so tired — and then it was time for the WhoIs enquiry. SchreckNet was probably run by a bunch of druglords, and if she was correct their address — their physical, meatspace address — would be one she knew already…

Bingo.

The abandoned warehouse.

_Fuck yeah, time to spy on some drug lords!_

This could not possibly go wrong!

And so she dove into SchreckNet.nod.

Or rather, she tried to.

The first thing she did was deploy her best back door program, and it didn’t find any. Back doors, that was. This wasn’t particularly alarming. Most databases weren’t well protected, usually that worked on the first go and it made hacking easy, but some databases were a bit more up to scratch. Apparently these drug lords paid their IT department well.

She ought to ask if they were hiring.

She had a couple of other back door programs. They were bigger, bulkier, and a bit slower to run and not as good, but they’d picked up holes in security that her main weapon had missed before.

They didn’t work, of course.

Hmmm. Maybe it was time to up the risk a bit. Maybe a Trojan through this WilhelmAugustus fellow? Would he get spam email? Would he be dumb enough to click a strange link? She could avoid the Trojan and use a dictionary attack to get access, but if a back door didn’t work then a dictionary attack almost certainly wouldn’t. These ones might be smart enough to use random symbols and number chains in their passwords. That would mean that if she resorted to a brute force attack, her algorithms might never crack it except by sheer luck.

Trojan it was, then.

But by then, she’d had a brainwave. She wouldn’t have to rely on WilhelmAugustus being dumb enough to click a strange link; hadn’t she already gotten into Paul’s email?

She grinned, clapped her hands together like a seal, and got to work.

To avoid suspicion, she compiled a report deconstructing how some of her own software worked — or rather, how an older version of it worked. She focused only on mentioning holes she’d already patched in her programs, but even if she hadn’t — it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that WilhelmAugustus didn’t suspect a thing.

And he would, if she messed up the timing. So she finally listened to her exhausted body, pulled out the phone cable, and went to bed without sending the email.

The next morning she logged in at 7.04AM in her pajamas with a slice of toast in one hand, spoofed her IP, and “hacked” into Paul’s email simply by typing in his email and the password. A master hacker was she!

* * *

**FROM** : sh4d0ws@aol.com

 **TO** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: Last night’s meeting

Good morning W,

I don’t know if I remembered to inform you, but I had some issues with the transfer. It all got taken care of, obviously, but to recap: the problem was that a colleague of mine stumbled on the code used to patch the system.

I’ve called in some favours and found out how (”she”, she almost wrote, but as the only woman Paul worked with she’d rather not make it easy for _the fucking Mafia_ or whoever they were to hunt her down and give her a pair of concrete shoes) it was done.

I’ve attached their report.

Regards,

Paul

* * *

Bam. Done. Wendy attached the “report” and went to hit send —

Wait.

Fuck!

She’d left a U in “favours!”

She scrubbed the word, double checked the email for any more amateur mistakes, found none, and hit send. She breathed a sigh of relief she’d caught it on time.

WilhelmAugustus should almost certainly click the link — and the program would execute, burying a Trojan in his system and simultaneously launching wordpad with a report with enough truth in it that any programmers he turned it to wouldn’t think to be suspicious. It would also save the report to his desktop, to avoid the risk of him looking for it later and spotting the .exe extension if he missed it the first time (which, hopefully, he would). The Trojan would send back vital database information through WilhelmAugustus’s email to a throwaway email she made especially for this purpose as soon as it could, then it would delete the email from both WA’s sent file and then his trash. It would also intercept and delete any reply WA sent to Paul, in order to avoid arousing Paul’s suspicion when he found a reply to an email he never sent, but not before forwarding a copy on to Wendy instead. Then it would empty his trash again, and then wipe itself from the system.

Not a trace.

To her annoyance, the link wasn’t clicked all day. She first checked her email once every five minutes, then once every half an hour, then every hour. By the end of the work day she’d only checked it twice that afternoon, and still no dice. She was beginning to think WA was _too_ smart, but when she checked Paul’s email again she saw no trace of any correspondence between them. Out of curiosity, she ended up checking his archives, but relaxed once she saw that apparently WA was a night owl who never conducted business outside of what she called “vampire hours.”

At home she found a message from her mother on her answering machine, bitching that Wendy was on the phone too much. Whoops. To give WA some more time to drag his lazy arse out of bed, she dutifully called her maternal unit. She made up a story about a new boyfriend, hung up afterwards, connected dial-up, spoofed her IP again, and checked the throwaway one last time before bed.

WA had clicked it.

20:09PM exactly. Her Trojan worked, and had dutifully compiled and then decrypted for her a list of administrator usernames, passwords and other vital information about the database and sent it straight to her throwaway email.

Excellent.

Except, also, _not_ excellent, because now she was too excited to go to bed. Dammit. There went another night of sleep.

She picked WilhelmAugustus’s username and password first, and logged into his email, and found out several things:

1\. WilhelmAugustus went by the name “Kaiser” like a fucking pretentious asshole.

2\. Kaiser hated pretentious assholes, and said the Camarilla was full of them.

3\. The Camarilla were the crime syndicate that Kaiser worked for. Whoever the fuck they were. Specifically, he worked underneath a couple of guys in their Nosferatu branch. From what she could gather, they were the IT department — wow, a crime syndicate with an IT department? — although Kaiser’s strength was in surveillance and intelligence, not IT itself, as Kaiser himself made obvious:

—> Do I look like a fucking nerd to you?

4\. The Camarilla was creepy and culty. They called each other “Kindred” and had transparent, eyeroll-inducing codewords for everything. External contractors like Paul were “ghouls”, which were paid in “vitae” or “blood” — drugs, in other words. A lucky enough ghoul would be “Embraced” into the Camarilla in some kind of creepy joining ritual, but only with the permission of the leader of the organisation, “Prince” Michaela. Apparently there was some kind of hazing ritual involved and it was particularly painful for Nosferatu.

—> Hey Allegra, how’s your childe doing? His Embrace took three fucking nights and the screaming was so fucking annoying I wanted to go over there and sew his mouth shut with my own tendons because it’d hurt less than what he did to my eardrums. So I hope he’s doing goddamn well! Asshole!

It was implied later on in Kaiser’s email that there was permanent disfigurement involved.

_Yikes._

(Were they Scientologists? They had to be Scientologists. No other cult was that big and that fucking creepy, although all the euphemisms were certainly new. Did Scientologists disfigure their recruits? She didn’t think so… but it _would_ be just like the Scientologists to have an IT department and use weirdass code phrases.)

She had so much fun catching up on “Kindred” gossip and laughing her ass off at how pretentiously faux-gothic they sounded —

—> Did you hear Arturo’s greatest work of art finally went off? That’s right, folks! Just in case you’ve forgotten, three years ago Prince Michaela manipulated events so that Becky Simmons would commission Thomas Arturo for a new haven, thinking it was her own idea. It was a complete secret, so naturally we all knew about it. On Prince Michaela’s orders, Thomas Arturo reluctantly rigged it up with explosives and gave her the detonator. Well, Prince Michaela’s suspicions about dear ol’Becky proved to be correct — she was, indeed, a Sabbat spy! Prince Michaela had a ball destroying the only great creation Thomas Arturo ever designed. Supposedly he looked _devastated_ at the news it had finally gone up in flames — he’s quite proud of his horrible, shitty work! Here’s a toast of blood to the Prince making our least favorite Harpy cry!

— that it wasn’t until midnight that Wendy remembered she was poking around in there for a reason.

Right. Paul.

Damn, that was so boring compared to hearing about the drama that was having sleeper agents at architectural firms blowing people up and then crying because their favourite work was destroyed. And finding out that the Camarilla had a goddamn _design department_ called the Toreador.

—> I told Arturo I’d never seen a design that looked so good. He was really pleased until he realized I was referring to the post-explosion penthouse. Yeah, he punched me. I didn’t know he had it in him!

She ran a few searches. One for the bank she worked at, another for Paul’s email address, and a third for the name of the President of their bank.

Fortunately, Kaiser was someone who liked to talk.

Paul had been employed as a contractor thirty five years ago when he was hooked on “vitae.” Now, that fact was absolutely baffling to Wendy — he didn’t look a day over thirty, and druggies tended to age faster, not look younger, but whatever. The evidence had been in his own email so it was definitely the same guy and not some other idiot called Paul Tolcott. Anyway, Paul had spent the last few years skimming off the top of one of the president’s accounts and forwarding every dollar to Kaiser.

Ding ding ding!

Oh, and he wanted Kaiser to bump off Wendy for discovering the payments.

Yeah.

That was a bummer.

Dickhead.

Now what?

Hm. She should probably go the police about this, but uh, she found this out illegally. Like, _really_ illegally. As much as she’d like to not die, being arrested for saving her own ass wasn’t an idea she was comfortable with.

She went and checked Kaiser’s recent emails as she pondered it. He’d been emailing people all night and had told Paul he — oh, _shit_ — already had Wendy’s apartment building under surveillance.

—> Once we find a way to actually get inside the building without tipping off the Kine, because I don’t want to get some Ventrue asshole in to Dominate somebody unless we have no choice, I’ll have my team enter her apartment.

—> Oh, by the way, here’s the address, since you mentioned wanting to check up on the stakeout. Yeah, the building’s actually got pretty good security for a Kine place, so we can’t walk the fuck in even with Obfuscate. Somebody’s watching a live video feed, we already had to deal with a Masquerade issue when Allegra just tried to sashay on in.

—> Anyway, yeah, address here:

Oh.

 _Oh_.

_Double yikes!_

Yeah, this wasn’t funny any more.

She immediately got up and stuck a doorstop under the door and double checked the deadbolt.

Okay. She didn’t want to die, but there was no point living in jail either. Time to dig out the phone book and look for a criminal lawyer. She’d stay put right this moment — leaving would be a bad idea with her apartment being watched — but she’d pack up some things and couch surf for however long it took for the issue to be resolved.

She spent the rest of the night compiling evidence for the stuff happening with the bank account — and the threat to her life. She also compiled a few other emails to provide context, so it was clear exactly what a “ghoul” was and other relevant terminology.

(Vitae. The fuck was “Vitae” the street name for? She’d have to look that up.)

And then she printed them all off and checked Kaiser’s most recent emails.

—> Yeah so Allegra got into the building, and even found the apartment. Picked the lock. Yeah, the bitch has a deadlock. There’s no lights on but Allegra said she’s still moving around in there, she can hear typing and the click of a mouse.

—> Ended up emailing Calebros, he said he’s sending in Qadir. Qadir owes him a favor. The Presence will be useful. He doesn’t know Dominate but he _does_ know Presence. I didn’t want to involve a fucking Toreador but I suppose Qadir is less unbearable than the prick Harpy who’s still crying over that fucking penthouse. (What a tool.)

Oh, fuck _this_!

She hadn’t heard a thing by the door. She crept to it and listened, but heard nothing.

Yeah, fuck that. Fuck that. Fuck that. Fuckfuckfuckfuck!

She sidled back into her chair and clicked “compose new email.”

—> Hey, Qadir,

—> Turns out we’re not useless sacks of shit after all and have this all covered.

—> Go fuck yourself.

—> Kind regards,

—> Kaiser.

She deleted the email from Kaiser’s “sent” folder and then spent half an hour dragging furniture around to cover the windows and front door. “Dominate” and “Presence” sounded awfully forboding, along with “Obfuscate.” She left a baseball bat by the door, just in case. If Qadir replied to her email, then the cat was out of the bag, but it didn’t matter right now. Right now she was more concerned with surviving the night.

(Wait. Damn it. What if Qadir didn’t check his email before he came over? What was he going to do, check his laptop on the subway? By what, magic? It wasn’t like they had phone lines in there for randoms to use! Damn it, she forgot that the majority of the world’s population weren’t nerds!)

She printed off the emails she’d compiled earlier, and backed them up to three different floppy disks. There were still hours to go until daylight, and until people started moving around, but she wasn’t going to sleep tonight. Again. She grabbed a kitchen knife, and fucked around with her computer cables and desk until she was left facing the door when she was online.

Her door handle twitched.

A heavy knock on the door answered her. “NYPD, open up.”

It was a man’s voice.

Yeah. She doubted that was “Allegra.” Must be the guy from the design department.

She moved up to the door. She should just keep her mouth shut, but the idea of fucking with these assholes — who were probably going to kill her anyway — was just a little bit too tempting. Self preservation and her sense of humour did battle. She picked up the baseball bat and got it ready, in case humour won. “Got a warrant?”

“Got it right here. Open up and I’ll show you.”

“Slide it under the door.”

A pause.

“Didn’t think so,” said Wendy.

She hesitated.

Self preservation momentarily lagged. “Hey,” she said, “Qadir.”

Another pause.

“Tell Kaiser to cram it up his ass.”

A hushed voice outside — the alleged ‘cop’. “Kaiser didn’t say she was one of yours!”

“She’s not!” said a woman’s voice. Or it would’ve been a woman’s voice, if other women liked to gargle glasses of acid filled with barbed wire. She made Marge Simpson sound like Celine Dion. “She’s been messing with one of ours, but she’s not one of ours!”

“Hi, Allegra,” said Wendy.

“Dude,” said Allegra, “don’t look at me like that, I didn’t even know this chick existed until today! She’s _not_ one of ours!”

“She recognised your voice,” said Qadir. Still quietly, but not a hushed whisper. “I’m really not in the mood to be one of Kaiser’s tools. I don’t like being manipulated, Allegra.”

“He’s not manipulating you — “

“Then she’d _better_ be a ghoul, because otherwise — “

“Of course I’m a fucking ghoul,” said Wendy, as a brainwave struck her. “I’m Thomas Arturo’s ghoul, you morons.”

A snicker from Allegra. “Oh, Kaiser is going to _love_ that.”

“We better call it off, then,” said Qadir.

“You fucking better,” said Wendy. “Now fuck off.”

If Thomas Arturo was as much of a night owl as this lot were — and given that everyone who exchanged emails with Kaiser seemed to be, it was likely — then she probably hadn’t bought herself more than a couple of hours while they chased up the Harpy and yelled at him and caused mutual confusion.

“We’ll be verifying this, Taylor,” said Qadir.

“Good luck with that,” said Wendy. “He’s been in a foul mood ever since the Prince blew up that penthouse. You know what Toreador are like about their designs.”

A soft laugh from Qadir.

Oh. Right. “Uh, no offence,” Wendy added.

“None taken,” said Qadir. “There’s a reason I’m not one of the ‘in-crowd.’ We can’t all be artists.”

“Thomas Arturo said Kaiser might try to get back at him for the face-punching. I mean, you did hear about that, right? He punched Kaiser. Sorry you got dragged into this.”

“Not a problem.” And like that, her would-be murderer was acting as polite as anything. “Come on, Allegra, I have a Nosferatu’s neck to wring. No, not yours. I know you’re just a neonate.”

“I’m so confused,” Allegra was saying as their footsteps faded away. “So, so confused. I had no idea she was a ghoul, and Kaiser wouldn’t have greenlit this without — hold on, there’s a waveLAN around here, I’ll email — “

Their voices died down.

Wendy sighed in relief.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mindful that the Nosferatu are on to her, Wendy deploys some measures to slow them down and lies low for a while.
> 
> When she gets back, shit gets real.

**FROM** : sirensong@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : Wendy Taylor is a ghoul.

Kaiser,

She’s Thomas Arturo’s. Qadir’s pissed, he thinks you’re manipulating him; Taylor said that Arturo warned her you might try something to mess with him after the punching incident.

I tried to tell Qadir that you’re not using him, but he didn’t believe me. It appears Arturo had his ghoul fuck with yours and is just playing innocent, but I don’t want to go a step further without knowing we’ve got all our bases covered. I know he’s young, but Arturo’s a powerful enough Harpy I don’t want to get my ass strung up for this if everything is as it appears.

But…

Look. I know I’m just a neonate. I’m need to know, etc etc. You tell me to jump, I jump. But you told me Calebros had sanctioned this and this isn’t his style. Assassinating another Kindred’s ghoul? The ghoul of a Harpy, no less?

My instincts are screaming at me that something is wrong here. Something’s seriously wrong.

Allegra

PS: Calebros told me John’s screaming had nothing on yours. Leave him alone, he’s just a baby.

* * *

**FROM** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : sirensong@schrecknet.nod

 **CC** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: Wendy Taylor is a ghoul

What the fuck

What the fuck

What the fuck

My intel said NOTHING about this. I poured over that bitch’s file, I fucking did it personally because it was MY GHOUL and MY MONEY she fucked with.

There is NOTHING in this to indicate she’s a ghoul. I know all the signs. There are NONE. She is exactly the age she seems to be, she has never been known to leave her apartment after dark, she has few visitors and none of them are known to us.

Cal — ?????????? Does ANY of this make sense to you?????

?????????????????????????????????

I swear to god if that bitch IS Thomas Arturo’s ghoul I’m going to eat my own goddamn ear wax. What the FUCK IS THIS SHIT.

Allegra, give me all the details, none of this vague bullshit. What HAPPENED??? How do you know she’s *Arturo’s* ghoul????

Where the fuck was Qadir through all of this???

Kaiser

PS: Fuck you, John was way louder.

* * *

**FROM** : sirensong@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod

 **CC** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: RE: Wendy Taylor is a ghoul

Kaiser,

Qadir tried to lure her out by pretending he was a cop. She didn’t fall for it, she demanded he put a warrant under the door or else she wasn’t opening up.

Well, after Qadir obviously didn’t think of an excuse fast enough, she called us both by name, told us she was Thomas Arturo’s ghoul, and told us both that you were trying to get back at Arturo because he punched you in the face. News travels fast, I guess.

Qadir believed her, not me. She kept the door closed the whole time all the same.

There’s something weird about this whole thing I can’t put my finger on. You’re a manipulative asshole but you wouldn’t set me up to end up on the warpath of a Harpy.

I’m inclined to think that there’s something going on you actually missed this time.

Allegra

* * *

Uh oh. They were suspicious. Time for some desperate measures.

She fiddled with the code of one of her programs as Kaiser and Allegra emailed back and forth a conversation that essentially boiled down to “Fuck you, I’m too good to have missed she’s a ghoul” and “well obviously you fucking missed SOMETHING” from Kaiser and Allegra, respectively. Kaiser clearly relied heavily on his email, so she had to slow him down.

And it was a good thing she had this code on hand, because the person she’d deduced to be “Calebros” eventually proved himself to have as much of a fucked up sleep cycle as everyone else involved, herself included:

* * *

**FROM** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **TO** : sirensong@schrecknet.nod

 **CC** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : Get off SchreckNET. Both of you.

Allegra, Kaiser —

The internet is banned until further notice. I will explain on another medium.

C

PS — Kaiser. Double check your files. There’s a name in her dossier you clearly missed.

* * *

She only needed a few minutes longer until the code would be ready…

* * *

**FROM** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : nosferatu@nypc.nod; admin@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: Get off SchreckNET. Both of you

Wait, you mean how she uses the name Michael Williams for her freelance work?

You’re not saying she’s THAT Michael Williams?

Oh

Shit.

We’re fucked.

Especially Gerard. Gerard, you’re gigafucked.

Where should we scatter your ashes after Michaela dusts you for GETTING HACKED BY MICHAEL FUCKING WILLIAMS, NEW YORK’S MOST FAMOUS HACKER???

Specifically, the HUMAN HACKER???

Jesus when I saw that name in the dossier I thought she used that name as a tribute or to piggy back off his reputation or something, not that she was THE ACTUAL FUCKING MICHAEL WILLIAMS.

Kaiser

PS: Still betting she's not a ghoul. I would know if she was. Arturo can be a slippery bastard but even he wouldn't think to ghoul a hacker.

* * *

**FROM** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **TO** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: RE: Get off SchreckNET. Both of you

Kaiser, I told you to get off the internet.

C

* * *

**FROM** : admin@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : nosferatu@nypc.nod; wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: RE: Get off SchreckNET. Both of you

Stop fucking panicking, Kaiser. I checked all the logins and they all check out. No unusual activity at all —

Oh, except for the fact you're logged into two computers at once.

So if anyone’s getting dusted, it’s you, buddy. ;-)

Anyway I’m putting some security updates in place. Hi, Wendy, I’ll be sure to come down with the welcome wagon when you’re dragged into this mess, provided you survive the experience. I know it's you, lady.

Gerard

PS: Calebros, are you handling this in-house or asking Prince Michaela for a favor? Because I know you’re thinking about doing some poaching, if you know what I mean. Who gets to do the honors?

PPS: Kaiser, if you’re going to fuck around online, at least change your fucking password.

* * *

**FROM** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **TO** : admin@schrecknet.nod

 **CC** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: RE: RE: Get off SchreckNET. Both of you

I’ll keep this vague until the security issue is corrected.

I'm not interested in poaching, and Prince Michaela would not allow it. However, if Kaiser's suspicions are correct then our new friend will be eligible for processing after all. If I choose one of our more outdoorsy kin, I’ll go through proper channels.

If I have someone else do it we’ll handle it in-house. Topsiders never notice when our numbers change, anyway.

Keep in mind she may not make it. This depends on her; if she forces our hand, we won’t be able to process her.

C

* * *

**FROM** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **CC** : admin@schrecknet.nod

So much for “get off the internet”, Cal.

Whatever. Dibs I’m *not* “processing” anybody. My ears are still ringing from Allegra's brat. Jesus fucking Christ almighty.

Kaiser

PS: Get the fuck out of my email, human bitch, I know you’re reading this. You’re dead. You’re fucking dead.

* * *

Well, that was fucking ominous.

Wendy clicked “New Email” and got to work.

* * *

**FROM** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod; nosferatu@nypc.nod; admin@schrecknet.nod

 **CC** : sirensong@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : sup fuckers

 **ATTCH** : paulinfo.exe

Yes, I’m “THAT” Michael Williams. I didn’t know I was “NEW YORK’S MOST FAMOUS HACKER???”

Like, I’d think you were mistaking me for someone else but if there was a famous hacker called Michael Williams I’d know about it. It’s just a name I use for my freelance gigs. IT is shit for women.

Anyway yeah, I’m in your system. Sorry about that, but Paul literally did just try to set the fucking Mafia or whatever the fuck you guys are on me to MURDER MY ASS, so I figure fighting back is fair game. I wouldn’t try to break into my apartment again tonight if I were you, I’ve put in some measures and a dead man’s switch; the entire contents of dear Kaiser’s email address (”Kaiser”? Jesus, how pretentious) have been uploaded to a remote server of mine and will be sent to no less than three of my media contacts if I do not input the password at dawn and every two hours afterwards for a period of fourteen days. Better hope I don’t sleep in.

And unlike fucking Gerry here, I actually encrypt the passwords on my server more securely than he does, because I’m not a moron.

Anyway, in a sign of good faith, I have compiled some information I think you’ll all want to know about Kaiser’s “ghoul.” This is not the first time he’s fucked up and exposed your operation. The relevant information is attached.

Sincere regards,

Wendy Taylor

AKA Michael Williams, “NEW YORK’S MOST FAMOUS HACKER???”

* * *

**FROM** : admin@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod; nosferatu@nypc.nod; sirensong@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : DO NOT FUCKING CLICK THAT ATTACHMENT

Oh my god, she’s making fun of Kaiser, I love her already. We have GOT to process her. PLEASE. PLEASE CAN I DO IT. PLEEEAAASSE.

Oh, right, I was emailing to say —

Anyone who’s stupid enough to see that .exe file and think ‘GOLLY GEE, I’M JUST GONNA CLICK THAT’ deserves everything Michaela gives them. No way in hell Paul’s exposed us in the past, we’d know about it. Don't fall for that shit.

I’m taking the whole server down until the security leaks are patched so that Cal stops yelling at me about Kaiser’s insistence on staying online.

Gerard

PS: The passwords ARE securely encrypted, she’s trying to mess with you.

PPS: She's bluffing about the killswitch. Kaiser's got megabytes of crap in his inbox. It'd take days to download it all.

* * *

A new email appeared in Kaiser’s inbox:

**Sender | Subject | Date**

**Primogen Calebros —** WHAT PART OF ‘GET OFF THE INTERNET’ DO YOU PEOPLE NOT UNDERSTAND??? — **12 May**

But before she could click it, the server kicked Wendy.

For a moment she thought maybe Kaiser had listened to Gerard and changed his password, but then she saw the pop-up:

**ERROR** :

HI, MY NAME IS EmailID:wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod AND I’M A FUCKING IDIOT WHO CLICKS .EXES SENT TO ME BY STRANGE HACKER “KINE” AFTER GERARD TOLD ME TO GET OFF THE INTERNET!!! BECAUSE I’M AN EDGY CULTIST WHO LIKES KILLING INNOCENT PEOPLE. :-D

Ah. Yes. Looked like even Gerard couldn’t save Kaiser from himself.

She giggled to herself.

A gunshot rang through the air.

She flinched.

It sounded like it was from a block away.

Ah.

Shit.

Right, they still knew where she lived and they wanted her dead. Watching their banter, she’d clean forgotten about it. Maybe it was because they were so… human.

She’d never thought that people who ordered the deaths of others could be so _human_.

Damn. She’d been having so much fun fucking with these idiots she forgot they were idiots _with guns_ . Idiots with guns who _killed people_. You didn’t have to be smart to pull a trigger.

Right.

Time to tip over a cabinet in front of her front door, time to drag a wardrobe over a window, and time to lock herself in the bathroom with another baseball bat. (She had a few of those lying around. She was a single woman living alone, after all. She had eleven of them at last count.) She yanked out the computer cord, plugged the phone back in, and dragged the phone into the bathroom. The cord only _just_ allowed it, slipping under the door nicely. If they got in, she was calling the cops; there was a station just around the corner, and with a doorstop under the door to help prevent it from opening that would buy her enough time.

Yeah, she didn’t want to get arrested for fucking around Paul’s email, but she didn’t want to die either. Suddenly prison was looking like less of a terrible idea than provoking the idiots with guns. The guns that killed people. Because that was a thing guns did.

But right now, the entirety of SchreckNET was booting all active users and locking them out, just as the Trojan was coded to do. It was changing their passwords and wiping the database. Goodbye, SchreckNET.

Well, not really. It was sloppily done. If they had half a braincell between them they’d have backups, and Gerard would just roll the server back manually. It didn’t matter. Night owls or not, it wouldn’t be back up until she was safe at work.

If she went to work at all…

Should she? Paul _tried to fucking kill her_ , and these guys wanted her dead, too. Still, the diehards among them seemed to have some kind of culty reverence for finishing their work and being back in their “havens” before sunrise — they didn’t stay up past dawn even when there was blood on the streets. Obviously, they couldn’t _literally_ believe they’d turn into ash if they saw the sun, but maybe they thought their souls would, or something.

But work was the safest place she could be right now. Dawn would be the time to make a break for it. The Camarilla would all be inside, and their ghouls wouldn’t be up that early. There was safety in numbers. She’d go to work early, and work late, and wouldn’t come back to her apartment afterwards. She’d find somewhere safer to rest.

She curled up in the bottom of the shower.

She didn’t sleep.

The noises at her door, and in the corridor outside her apartment, weren’t conducive to sleep.

-o-

They didn’t get in.

She emerged from the bathroom half an hour after dawn. The sitting room was fine. The wardrobe she’d used to cover the fire escape looked as if it had been nudged slightly out of place, but not too badly, and nobody had managed to get in.

She packed the essentials. Laptop. Chargers. LANwave card. A change of clothes. Phone numbers, including the first criminal lawyer she could find in the phone book. The brick of a Nokia she’d gotten only three months before. Her pager. A map of New York and another of its subway systems. The manila folders and the floppies. Makeup.

Definitely the makeup.

She phoned a taxi.

The deadbolt was still secure, as was the door wedge. But the door handle turned freely when she opened it to leave.

Nobody was in the hallway. Not even her neighbours. She still jumped at any movement — a fly divebombing her head, a leaf blown past a window, displaced air when the elevator doors opened with nobody inside.

She breathed.

If there was still somebody watching her apartment — an insomniac Camarilla going against their religious mandates, or a bleary-eyed ghoul awake at the same ungodly hour as her, they were so damn good she didn’t see them.

She met the taxi and went in to work. She called the criminal lawyer, tried to get as early an appointment as she could manage, stressing the fact she _was in danger but was scared of going to the police_ — but the earliest she could get was next Tuesday and a “call the police if it’s an emergency.”

Well, that was fucking helpful.

By the time she actually went to her office, she was beyond late. At least it was Friday. She only had to survive the weekend and Monday.

Paul double-took when he saw her in the hallway.

“Sup,” she said. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Uh,” said Paul. “No problem. No problem at all.”

He didn’t write her up, even though work started an hour ago.

She just smiled at him, as if he hadn’t tried to get her fucking murdered, and went to work. Or tried. She hadn’t slept all night, she’d forgotten to get coffee, and even though adrenaline had her heart hammering against her ribs and made her feel more awake than ever, her brain couldn’t quite boot up.

She managed to bully one of the interns into getting her a Starbucks. Something with a lot of espresso shots. Bad idea; she only ended up jumpier than before and vibrated well into the afternoon.

She stayed late. That meant not leaving the building until after dark, when the Camarilla’s weird religious bullshit meant they were free to fuck around openly (she had little doubt a lot of them were up in daylight behind each other’s backs, because _nobody_ could function in society only being awake at night and only at night), but she wanted traffic to die down first before she left, and she didn’t leave the building until the cab was pulled up to the curb.

She changed the address she wanted the cabbie to take her to a few times. She made up a story about a stalker to get the cab to shake off any pursuers. Not that he tried hard; this wasn’t a movie, instead of a cool car chase scene (sigh) he just got annoyed. Of all things, the only thing that seemed to be tailing them was a limo. She pointed it out to the driver.

“Uh huh,” he said. “Your stalker has a limo.”

“Look, can you just humour me?” said Wendy. “You’re getting paid either way. Take four lefts or four rights. You’ll see.”

The cabbie made an annoyed noise, but he obeyed.

After the limo followed them through the fourth left turn, he said, “Okay. That _is_ creepy. Shit, sorry, thought you were schizo or something.”

He still kept driving at the speed limit. “Aren’t you going to shake him off?”

“Wait for it,” he said.

She waited.

The limo followed. The cab meandered through Manhattan.

“Aren’t you?” she said.

“Wait for it,” he said.

They approached an intersection. The light turned red.

He hit the accelerator. “Here we go!”

And after they ran the red, he was off like a flash — a right turn here, a left there, detours coming out of detours. For a while he doubled back towards Wendy’s workplace, then wandered off across a bridge. He seemed to have fun racking up the miles — and the bill. Wendy didn’t object. He took a few four-right-turns just to check nobody else was on their tail.

The trick worked. By the time he pulled up outside a motel far from the city the cabbie was cheerful and Wendy relieved. The bill was far from pretty, but it was the price of peace and safety.

It was Friday night. She wouldn’t have to worry about work until Monday. She’d call off sick, she had a few days saved up. That’d buy her some time. By then, she’d have seen the lawyer, and hopefully turned in the evidence — anonymously — to police.

She spent the weekend holed up in the motel room. Nobody bothered her. When she left to get groceries, she caked her face in makeup to disguise herself, and ended up out long enough to buy a few books so she didn’t die of boredom. She used cash, and didn’t dare visit an ATM in case Paul was watching her bank account and tracked the ATM she used. She read all the books. When she made it to Monday morning, she left Paul a message feigning illness, saying she would take a few days off.

On Tuesday the 17th of May, she saw the lawyer. She showed him the emails, and was upfront about how she found them — at least, until the lawyer said, “No, don’t tell me anything not need to know.”

“Yeah, well, it’s need to know because I’d like to know how to keep my ass out of the fire _without_ getting in trouble for that!”

“You can start by not picking fights with organised criminal cultists and crashing their servers. That’s… really not that smart.”

“Touche.”

The lawyer advised her on a few routes of turning them in anonymously, but said, “Honestly, your best bet is to go in with me and talk to them in person. You clearly need protection while this is investigated, and my presence there will mean you won’t divulge anything that is compromising.”

Of course, she’d have to pay for that, and she’d already blown her budget as it was just keeping herself alive that weekend. She only had so much money, and credit took time to secure.

She’d have to drop them in anonymously.

“Good luck,” he said. “If there’s an emergency, call the police. If they ask questions about how you know any of this, keep your mouth shut and call me. You have no obligation to give them any information, and they are not allowed to search you without a warrant. Remember that. Don’t worry about prison, just keep yourself safe. And definitely stop hacking these guys. Don’t engage, don’t provoke them in any way.”

Wendy went to the station she was told to, asked after the cop she was told to, and gave him the print outs and the floppy disk just like she was told to.

She stayed at another motel from Tuesday night on, but on Friday she had to go back to work again. She’d have to ask her mum for help with the rent for the next three weeks because her budget was shot to shit. It’d have to be wired from Sydney, but she’d ask for extra time from the landlord.

For the second Friday in a row, she went to work pretending nothing had happened, her heavy-ass laptop stashed under one arm. Paul wasn’t there.

“He was off yesterday,” said the guy who told her about Nelson Mandela’s win the week before. “Don’t think he called off though, his boss was pissed.”

Wendy didn’t think anything of it.

Not until later that morning, when Paul’s wife came in.

Janet stood at a colleague’s desk. Face in her hands. Scotty from Marketing had an arm around her shoulders and a grave look on his face. Janet had always looked twenty years older than her husband, but today, with red-rimmed eyes and a tear streaked face, she looked even older. She caught Wendy’s eye, and opened her mouth.

“Wendy’s been off all week, Janet,” said Scotty. “She won’t have seen Paul.”

Wendy felt her heart freeze in her chest.

 _Oh. God, no. Please, no_ _—_

Of course Paul would have been blamed for the servers going down and for piquing Wendy’s interest in the whole thing. _Of course he was. Of course he_ —

“What happened?” Wendy croaked.

“It’s Paul,” said Scotty. “He hasn’t been seen since Wednesday.”

“I just wanted to see if anyone had seen him,” said Janet, before dissolving into a fresh wave of tears.

Wendy stared, hopelessly, as one of the receptionists came over with a mug of hot cocoa and shepherded her away.

(She should’ve gone to the cops and let them arrest her. Maybe then he’d still be alive. Because he was dead, Wendy knew that. There was no way in hell they’d let him live. No way in hell. God. Oh, god.)

She drifted through the rest of the day.

She’d thought it was funny. Even when it was her life at stake, she’d been freaked out, but still willing to kick the hornet’s nest. She should’ve just deployed the Trojan without the provocative email. They wouldn’t have known it was her who’d done it. It would’ve been little more than a coincidence.

The plausible deniability might have saved him.

She drifted through the rest of her day, staring hollowly at the screen, fingers curled on her desk. Her keyboard lay untouched. Nobody hassled her. There was no Paul to hassle her about working. No replacement yet.

The police would come in on Monday, the others said. They’d want to interview everyone. She didn’t know what she’d say.

She didn’t even know she’d survive the weekend. Maybe the Nosferatu would have caught up by then.

When she got home that evening, there were cops waiting outside her apartment door.

It was only then that she remembered that the NYPD already knew who to investigate for Paul’s murder, and she was the reason for that.

For the first time in over a week, a shaky, weak smile took over her features. The shock of Paul’s disappearance still felt raw, but maybe there was light at the end of the tunnel.

-o-

“Good evening, gents.” She tried to be perky, but only sounded exhausted. Maybe they couldn’t hear the guilt under her voice, see it written all over her face: _I was a fucking idiot who provoked a bunch of cultist-gangsters and got somebody killed_.

“What can I do for you?” said Wendy.

“Are you Miss Wendy Taylor?” said one of the cops, playing with the handcuffs at his belt.

“Ms,” said Wendy. “Yes, that’s me.” She put her key in the lock, but the front door was already unlocked. Again. Of _course_ one of the Camarilla had probably been fucking around in there since she’d gone. Sigh. She pretended not to notice, instead opening the door.

The lawyer had said she wasn’t obliged to talk to the police, or to invite them in.

But she was tired. So tired. And the guilt still twisted her stomach.

She sighed. “Want to come in?”

“Sure,” said the one playing with his handcuffs, letting his hands fall by his sides.

“It’ll be easier to do this inside,” said the other.

It was dark in her apartment — way darker than she was used to. She’d been gone a week, but what had happened? She flicked on a switch, and —

Oh. Right.

“Uh,” said the shorter cop, the one who’d been fidgeting. Handcuffs, Wendy nicknamed him privately. “Don’t like sunlight?”

“Or are you expecting a break-in?” The taller one picked up the baseball bat behind the door.

“Uh,” said Wendy, looking around at the furniture she’d left haphazardly all over the apartment. Specifically, the furniture she’d left covering the windows. “Yeah, I’m a vampire.” The tone of her voice was as dead as the joke. She sighed. “Actually, I was having trouble sleeping one night so I started rearranging it and… kinda got tired halfway through and went ‘fuck it, I’ll fix it later.’ I actually forgot I left it like this.” That last part was the truth, at least.

Her shoulder was sore — the bag with her laptop, slung across her body, was so damn heavy. She’d dump it in her room once the cops were gone, her shoulder could deal with it. She just wanted to collapse onto the futon. Somehow, her bedroom felt too far away.

“’One night,’ you said?” said the cop with the baseball bat.

“Hmm?” said Wendy.

“You make it sound like it wasn’t last night?” said Handcuffs.

“It was last week, actually,” Wendy admitted. She was acting suspicious as hell now, there was no way they’d be convinced otherwise. And Paul’s death sure didn’t make her innocent. Better keep her mouth shut — it was about time she learned how — so she didn’t elaborate. She glanced at the cop with the baseball bat. Baseball, she decided his name was. “Do you mind propping that up against the kitchen counter?”

“You sure you weren’t expecting a break in?” The cop in question twirled the bat like a baton, and then leaned his body — not the bat — against the counter. “Is that another baseball bat by the fridge?”

“Some creepy shit has been happening,” said Wendy, running a hand through her hair. “Someone came to my door pretending to be a cop last Thursday, but they didn’t have a warrant. Already had all the baseball bats though, I’m a single woman living by myself. If someone breaks in then I need to have a weapon in reach.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“Ah, no.” Damn, she hadn’t even thought about getting one. Not once. The fuck was a baseball bat going to do in a gunfight? If someone broke in here, they were going to have a gun, not a knife. “I grew up in Sydney, in Australia. Gun laws are different there, nobody keeps guns just in case of break ins. Old habits, I never even considered…”

“Thought you had a bit of an accent,” said Baseball.

“Actually,” said Handcuffs, “we’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a while.”

“You have?” Huh. When had she submitted the — ? Oh, right, Tuesday afternoon. And it was Friday now. “Since when?”

Only then did she notice that Baseball was still twirling the bat.

Something was wrong.

Something was really, really wrong.

“I’ll get to the point,” said Handcuffs, unclipping his namesake from his belt. “You’re under arrest for embezzlement and the murder of Paul Tolcott.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being accused of murder by the very police she sought out for protection, Wendy is forced to make a choice: go quietly and hope it's a misunderstanding, or fight to the bitter end.
> 
> Wendy chooses to fight.
> 
> It's not without cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sometimes Ao3 is weird AF and puts random spaces that aren't in the original file I copied this from. I quickly went over this chapter again after I spotted it post-publication, but apologies if I missed anything.
> 
> I'll do the same with the previous chapters at some point, as well as correct some other errors (formatting and not) that I noticed.

Handcuffs stepped closer.

“What? No!” Wendy tripped backwards onto her futon. “That’s not right — I didn’t — I — _Paul_? Embezzlement? No, Paul was embezzling — “

“Please stand up,” droned Handcuffs, “place your hands behind your back and turn around.”

The other still had the baseball bat. He still hadn’t put it down. Why would he do that? Was that normal for an arrest? _No, no, no, it isn_ _’t, this isn’t_ — “You have the right not to say anything, and anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Baseball coiled like a tensed spring. Watching.

“What the fuck.” Wendy sat up.

“Please stand up and turn around, ma’am,” said Handcuffs.

Two large men stood between her and the door. One gripped a baseball bat. Both wore guns. One was stepping closer —

“You don’t get it, this is wrong!” Wendy held out her palms. One hand she slowly lowered towards the couch. “I _found_ the embezzlement, I have emails on my computer and everything! I know who would have wanted him dead!”

“Then you can share that information with us at the station,” said Handcuffs, “and this can all be cleared up.”

They were watching her moving hand. They weren’t stupid. She stilled it.

“Ma’am,” said Handcuffs. “I won’t ask you again. _Stand up_. Now.”

She waved her first hand as if to illustrate a point. When their eyes slid towards the movement, she lowered her second hand again. Slowly, slowly... “It’s in my email archives. I emailed Paul about it and everything — “

Handcuffs seized her right hand and clicked the handcuffs into place.

And her other hand dove underneath the futon, grabbed something hard, and whipped another baseball bat at his head.

Handcuffs let go as it connected. The surprise alone should have overbalanced him, but he kept stayed on both feet —

She sprung to the left, away from the futon, baseball bat in hand, handcuffs tinkling on one wrist.

Baseball sprung for her. It came down as a blur and only luck and instinct helped her dodge. The futon split and bloomed with cotton puffs.

“Don’t kill her!” snapped Handcuffs.

Baseball went for her again. The end of the bat brushed her blouse as it sailed past her, and then for a split second, time slowed down. Baseball was overbalancing from the swing, wide open for another hit, and she should press the advantage, she should, she should —

 _She just attacked a cop, and she was going to attack another one??! What was wrong with her_ _—_

The moment passed.

Baseball righted himself.

And then the world went black as something slammed into her and smashed the back of her head into the wall. The darkness erupted with points of light. She dropped the bat, and gasped for air, but her lungs didn’t work —

Hands tightened on her throat.

“Go to sleep, little girl.” Handcuffs’ face loomed next to hers as the edges of her vision blackened.

Some instinct, some part of her monkey brain that had been passed down from her ancestors in the African savannah, down through Europe and across the Atlantic into the New World, acted for her.

Her body thrust her knee upwards with all the power fear and struggle gave it. It went straight between Handcuffs’ legs. He yelped, loosening his grip —

— enough for her to wriggle out of, enough for her to run —

But the moment her throat opened, coughs seized her body and drove her to her knees. She raked as much air into her lungs as she could — too little, every mouthful was choked back out — and her vision spun and bloomed with static and her ears roared. Her head swam, she staggered back up —

Was that Baseball going for her with the bat again? She fell. She didn’t know if he hit her or it was dizziness that made her stumble.

The roaring in her ears faded to a buzz, and she heard yelling.

“I said, _don_ _’t fucking kill her!_ ”

“They said dead or alive, what does it matter?”

“Dude! The bonus! Let her live!”

 _Scream!_ She struggled to her feet, but all she could do was hack and wheeze. _Scream!_ Something grabbed her wrist. She twisted out of it, fell again. The air came a little easier now, but she still choked. She pivoted on her butt. Her vision was finally clearing of static and clouds. Baseball stood above her, fuzzy, and raised the bat again —

People.

She needed _people_.

Her body lunged for Baseball’s ankle and yanked. The bat spun in the air and fell at the coffee table, which shattered.

She begged her legs to move. This time, they obeyed. She dragged air into her lungs, faceplanted into her own front door. Ripped at the handle. Pulled it. Fell out of her apartment. Scrambled to her feet through treacle instead of air, but she must have been faster than she thought because the cops didn’t catch her, and she ran. Her steps were uneven, staggering, but with every step her gait grew smoother. Her throat started to settle, gravity grew less powerful, the world stopped spinning. She tried to scream but her gasps said, _not yet._ She tore through the hallway, hammering on the wall and every door she passed. _Need witnesses, need crowds, need eyes_ _—_

“Stop!” Hollered Handcuffs. “In the name of the law!”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” said Baseball.

Her hammering grew stronger until she was tearing down the hallway, fist slamming against every door she passed. And then —

A gunshot ran out. Wind whipped up the hair on the side of her head, obscuring her vision.

Her ear burned.

Oh. Right. She kept forgetting about guns.

The door to the fire escape waited at the end of the hallway. Just a bit further —

“What’s going on?” said a new voice.

She stopped, and turned around. A few people peered from behind half-open doors now. Handcuffs stood near her door, lowering her gun.

Her voice came back. “They tried to strangle me!” _Never let them take you to a second location, don_ _’t let them take you alive —_ “FUCKERS TRIED TO STRANGLE ME!”

“Ma’am,” said Handcuffs, “you’re under arrest.”

Oh. Right.

Cops. Not random thugs.

Fuck.

Well, wasn’t like she was in a state to think her actions through right now.

Which was probably why she kept screaming, like her voice hadn’t gotten the memo from her brain. “YOU STRANGLED ME! That’s not arrest, you bastards, you’re fake cops!”

“Dude,” said one of the neighbours, too weed-eyed to care about the gunshot as he stood in an open doorway. “She’s got bruises on her neck. What the fuck?”

“Someone call the actual cops,” said another neighbour from behind a cracked door. “Real cops don’t shoot people for running.”

“This is an arrest,” barked Handcuffs, as Baseball shoved past him and advanced on Wendy. “Return to your — “

“If you’re a cop,” said the stoner, “then show us your badge.”

Wendy ripped open the fire escape door and shot down the stairwell. Round and round and round, her footsteps echoed against bricks on all four sides of her, like a washed-up celebrity’s career going down the drain, funneling out of sight —

Then Baseball fucking landed on the railings, perching like a demented bird, before stepping in front of her.

“Did you fucking _jump that_?!” Wendy skidded into him, recoiled before his arms could close on her, and whirled away through a door. “Are you a fucking psycho?!” _Make noise, make them hear me, make them all come, pull the Masquerade away from their face and let the world see what they are_ —

She screamed, and she screamed, and she screamed.

She screamed anything that came to mind, everything that came to mind — maybe those words about the Masquerade had come out of her mouth like she was some kind of absolutely batshit insane would-be prophet, who knew? But she screamed and she screamed and —

Another shot rang out, but she ignored it and kept running and —

A heavy weight slammed her into the ground so fast her nose crunched under her face. Someone yanked her wrist hard behind her back. Her shoulder wrenched. She thrust her head back as fast as she could. Her assailant yelped. She twisted around in his loosened grip, curled her fingers as she squirmed onto her back, and went for Baseball’s eyes. She dug her nails in good and deep. Baseball shrieked.

She wriggled out from underneath, just in time for Handcuffs to come careening around the corner, a gun in his hand, a gun that he lowered and aimed at her —

She looked behind her.

Dead end. Except for a window.

Except for a window.

 _Run_.

She ran.

She braced herself.

And then the world was full of the sound of tinkling glass, and she was weightless. For a moment she thought gravity would never claim her, that she’d fly forever, but —

Oh.

She should have really thought about this. The ground was pretty far away. But that was okay, because it was coming closer and closer and closer —

She landed on her feet like it was fucking nothing. _Fuck yeah!_

She straightened.

She looked up.

The cops were at the window, looking back down at her.

Three floors up.

Three _fucking_ floors. And she’d landed without a scratch. Fuck _yeah_!

“Take that, cocksuckers!” She ran down the alley. Around a corner.

Ran right into a dumpster.

They’d never look for her there, in the rubbish.

The dumpster lid was heavy, but she pulled it with such force it banged against the brickwork. She was already in. She buried herself in the stinking trash like a maggot in rotting meat. Slime painted her cheeks. Something wet her knee. Something else soaked the hem of her pants. She dug and she dug and she dug, and she took refuge in the filth and the reek.

And only when she was completely buried did she let herself go still.

-o-

She waited.

She’d thought she’d landed that jump, but then her ankle started to hurt.

Her ankle started to hurt a _lot_ , actually. So did her ribs down one side (when did she do her _ribs_ in?), and her right ear, and also her left shoulder. Oh, and her face too. None of it was as bad as her ankle. She thought the pain couldn’t possibly get worse — it hurt a _lot_ — but with each beat of her heart it throbbed and the pain doubled down with each moment until she was holding back tears. Holy shit, nothing had ever hurt this much in her life. Fuck, it was getting worse by the second and —

“I’m checking!” Baseball called out from a few yards away. “She can’t have got far.”

Wendy froze.

Handcuffs, farther away, yelled something incoherent.

“She broke something,” called Baseball. “No way she’s run off.”

“She wasn’t limping.” Handcuffs was getting close enough to understand.

The dumpster lid creaked as it opened.

“Adrenaline is a hell of a drug, even for normal people.” Baseball said from right above her. She didn’t dare so much as breathe. “Dude, she jumped three storeys, no fucking way she landed that without breaking something. She'd be lucky to walk away from that with _only_ a break.”

Wendy lay still.

Afternoon light filtered through the rubbish. Something plastic rustled in a breeze. Something squishy stuck to Wendy’s forehead.

“Are you _sure_ she’s not one of us?”

“Dude, I told you, adrenaline does freaky shit even in humans. Once she calms down she’ll be in too much pain to run, so she’ll hide.”

The lid crashed down. She clenched her teeth and held back a sob as the vibration went straight into her leg.

Her head pounded. What was left of her nose throbbed. Her right ear continued to burn.

She didn’t hear them leave.

But she didn’t hear them speak, either.

It was years before she dared to move. Then, she unburied herself. Her ankle screamed and throbbed every time she so much as twitched it, making clawing her way up through the rubbish harder than she thought it could be. A yoghurt cup stuck to her arm. A slimy wrapper curled around her jaw. It was hard to breathe through her nose, clogged with something hot and smelling like metal.

Finally, she got herself into as comfortable a position as she could.

She touched her bad ear. It was wet. Hot. She tried to look at her fingers, but it was pitch black in there.

Her laptop, she suddenly remembered. She hadn’t put the bag down, was it still with her? Her hand felt at her hip.

Oh, thank god. She’d completely forgotten it in the drama.

She freed the bag from some Chinese takeaway cartons. The laptop inside was undamaged. Unbroken. When Windows 3.2 finally logged in, she turned the background into a solid white colour. The light almost blinded her.

She checked her fingers again.

Blood. So much blood. When she touched her ear there was more.

She’d been shot. That must have been the heat whizzing by — the bullet had clipped her ear. She’d probe it — had part of her ear come off? — but it hurt too much, _everything_ hurt too much. Her ankle was indescribably worse after tunneling up through the rubbish like a zombie fighting her own grave. And she was covered in trash and god knows how many trillions of species of bacteria and she needed antibiotics and probably a tetanus shot —

Fucking hell.

She continued the check. Blood on her side, at the painful part of her ribs. She’d been shot there too, but it seemed to have been another clip. Her nose was a throbbing lump on her face, and her mouth and jaw were soaked with hot, sticky blood.

Fuck, she was a wreck. Every inch of her hurt.

God, she suddenly realised, she’d tried to _knock a cop out with a baseball bat_ . What the _fuck_ had she been thinking!?

( _Dead or alive_ , one of the cops had said.)

No.

They hadn’t been cops.

There was somebody who might be able to tell her who they were…

She balanced the laptop on her knees as she dug out her WaveLAN card. The smell of the dumpster wasn’t bothering her so much now. Her leg still screamed, but she ignored as much as she could.

She could handle this.

Squatting in a dumpster made for a shit internet connection, and WaveLAN had always sucked. She sucked in her breath and waited for it to connect.

It did.

And it held.

She launched her usual programs to cover her tracks.

She hesitated.

Kaiser had fallen for the same trick twice, but there was no way it’d work a third time.

Instead, she logged into Paul’s personal email. Or she tried to. His old password didn’t work, so Wendy pulled up the dictionary cracker. What should have only taken two minutes took twenty because of the bad connection. It was the longest, most painful twenty minutes of her life. Everything hurt so fucking much, and the ankle hurt worse than the rest of her combined.

No emails had been sent from Paul’s account since Wednesday night.

Wendy blinked away tears again, but this time it wasn’t the pain that brought them on.

Fuck. She’d been playing games, thinking it was only her own neck at risk, and a man had _died_ . A man who’d wanted _her_ dead, yes, but — but this was different. It hadn’t been in self defence. She’d just thought she’d be some fucking movie badass and sass the bad guys, and somebody fucking died.

She sniffled. Took a moment to steady herself. Scrolled back through Paul’s emails, retracing his last moments.

She scrolled first to the early hours of last Friday, after she’d wiped SchreckNET. It had taken until almost four in the morning for SchreckNET to get back up.

There was only one email from wilhelmaugustus@schrecknet.nod, at four in the morning, and it was short and sweet: “CHANGE YOUR FUCKING PASSWORD, THEN EMAIL ME WHEN YOU’VE DONE IT.”

There were no more after that.

On a hunch, Wendy checked the trash folder.

Voila. There were emails in there — not from Kaiser, but from another SchreckNET address. Wendy clicked the first.

* * *

**FROM:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** sh4d0ws@aol.com

 **SUBJECT:** (no subject)

 **ATTCH:** wtaylorreport.txt

You know who this is.

Read this email

very.

Fucking.

Carefully.

Let’s establish a few facts:

FACT #1 — We’re fucked, and I’m pretty sure it’s your goddamn fault.

I’ll go into that later.

The one thing I will give you is that you’re the reason we know what the fuck is going on at all. If you hadn’t told us that Wendy Taylor saw your activity in the bank systems, we would be completely dead in the water with this.

Kudos for not being a cowardly piece of shit where that’s concerned. Thank fuck.

FACT #2 — Michael Williams is a bigger security threat to us than you know, and shit just got real.

Look. I’ll admit another thing — I should’ve given you this information from the beginning.

But you’re not the only one who’s had run ins with him before. Many of our clan are either programmers themselves, or have ghouls that are. You’re not the only one we have planting spyware in servers all over the country. Increasingly, Michael Williams has risen as a renowned hacker because he keeps finding our shit! He’s almost tracked us to SchreckNET on four separate occasions. Our biggest blindspots in the cyber world are all his fault.

How did shit just get real? I’ll tell you

FACT #3 — He works for you. He — or rather, she — is Wendy Taylor.

You better fucking believe it.

FACT #4 — That means Michael Williams is the one who uncovered your activity in the bank system.

If you didn’t report the discovery, we would be completely fucked because we’d have no fucking clue what was going on.

FACT #5 — SchreckNET was compromised by Wendy Taylor.

AKA FUCKING MICHAEL WILLIAMS, THE WORST POSSIBLE PERSON WHO COULD HAVE DONE THIS.

She nuked the servers and completely wiped them. Admin had to restore from Sunday’s backup. Even then, everything but email is currently down. It’s total fucking chaos right now.

More facts:

1\. You were transferring money to me.

2\. Taylor spotted these transfers, but didn’t appear to know who sent them or who to.

3\. Days later, Taylor got into my email account.

4\. She knows you want her dead.

Let’s summarize all the above —

Admin is pretty fucking sure you’re the weak link in this. She jumped from the transfers to me, and you’re the only stepping stone she could have used to get across that gap — and she knew YOU reported her to us. Because SHE WAS IN MY EMAIL. AND SAW *YOUR* EMAILS.

Admin wants you to send your professional workstation to him so he can work it over for spyware. Disconnect it from the bank’s systems ASAP and don’t let her anywhere near it. Admin says remove the hard drive to be sure. I’ll wait outside the building at dusk and pick it up personally.

Read the attached .txt file — were you the one who wrote and sent it? Admin says scan it first, make sure it doesn’t have any viruses. You sent it to me but what “you” wrote with it was weird. Taylor infiltrated the system not long after I read it; admin says there may be a link. I can’t share the email itself because of the server crash, but I had the .txt saved on my computer so that’s all we have to go off.

Get this shit sorted ASAP.

* * *

**FROM:** sh4d0ws@aol.com

 **TO:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** RE: (no subject)

RE: Report —

I did not write that report, and I have no such report on my local machine.

RE: Wendy —

Surprising to hear she might be Michael Williams. I’d have thought Williams would work with his clients in person, in which case it would be obvious he was not a man. Any comments on that?

The reason why I reported Wendy to you was because there was no reason for her to be examining the transactions in the President’s personal account in the first place. The activity struck me as suspicious, and I could not report it to my superiors without uncovering our own activities. That’s why I gave you as much information on her as I could, and requested you look into it.

That she made the jump from the activity to its connection with you is disturbing, and certainly lends credence to your assertions that she is Michael Williams, as this would be something he is capable of.

RE: The weak link —

I will investigate my machine as soon as I return to work.

Without the support of your organization, it would be impossible for me to quarantine the machine entirely. Disconnecting the hard drive from the system would mean being unable to do my work, and I simply cannot avoid work all day without my superiors noticing and interfering. I cannot change that.

I will head into work as soon as possible and run some scans, and I will deliver the machine to you at dusk as instructed, but the full extent of what you are asking of me is impossible.

I agree she must have connected the two of us, and agree with your administrator that my work machine must be compromised. I was careless. It will not happen again.

Sh4d0w

* * *

**FROM:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** sh4d0ws@aol.com

 **SUBJECT:** It’s Friday evening!

Where are you?

I’m waiting outside! Get out here!

—> I’d have thought Williams would work with his clients in person, in which case it would be obvious he was not a man. Any comments on that?

I don’t give a shit.

That’s my comment. Why the fuck is this at ALL important?!

—> The reason why I reported Wendy to you was because there was no reason for her to be examining the transactions in the President’s personal account in the first place. The activity struck me as suspicious, and I could not report it to my superiors without uncovering our own activities. That’s why I gave you as much information on her as I could, and requested you look into it.

If she’s sticking her fingers into the President’s pie as well, I couldn’t care less!

—> That she made the jump from the activity to its connection with you is disturbing, and certainly lends credence to your assertions that she is Michael Williams, as this would be something he is capable of.

You moron, I’m not saying she COULD be Michael Williams, I’m saying she IS Michael Williams. Don’t second guess me. We found the evidence through your own bank, using the back doors YOU provided us. Wendy Taylor gets regular payments from another account — this account is her freelance account, Michael Williams. You didn’t even think to perhaps check that??? Or think that maybe I don’t talk out of my fucking ass??? Is that enough fucking proof for you to LISTEN TO ME????

—> Without the support of your organization, it would be impossible for me to quarantine the machine entirely blah blah blah

Fucking hell, you’re lucky you sent that email so close to sunrise because I’d have chewed you the fuck out and come over with a hit squad myself. You fucking idiot. If she got into your workstation AGAIN today because you were too scared of a few pissy humans —

what the fuck she went to WORK today??

brb wait for me

* * *

The email was timestamped around the time she’d left work. And if Kaiser (because “Mrxlttn” was obviously Kaiser) had been outside waiting for Paul’s computer —

Holy shit.

She’d come _this close_ to running into him.

She hadn’t seen anything suspicious at all. Shit — had she even looked? No, she’d just speedwalked to the cab as soon as she’d seen it pull up. She hadn’t seen a man on a laptop, or anything else unusual.

Had he been in the limo that tailed her later, perhaps? Or was that one of his friends? Calebros, perhaps, who was obviously higher on the totem pole and therefore better paid? No way a middle manager like Kaiser would be driven around in a goddamn limo.

There was a gap of a couple of hours before Kaiser sent another email.

* * *

**FROM:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** sh4d0ws@aol.com

 **SUBJECT:** (no subject)

If you’re reading this, you clearly didn’t fucking listen to my instructions.

Get off the fucking internet in case I have to phone you. Better we stick to phones while she’s underground. Until Gerard tells me where you fucked up in your security you’re banned from emailing me.

* * *

Damn it. There was nothing after that. Not even on the day Paul went missing.

She’d have to go phishing again.

She switched applications. She spoofed the admin’s email. Gerard. Someone Kaiser trusted. Especially since Kaiser was currently unaware that Wendy knew his new email — his guard would be down.

He wouldn’t think twice of falling for a Trojan for the third time in a row if he thought it came from the most knowledgeable IT-Nosferatu he knew. Worst case scenario, he didn’t click it.

This one, once launched, would change Kaiser’s email password to one she’d set, boot him, and lock him out of the system. It would send her an email once it was done. Kaiser would notice immediately, but fingers crossed, Kaiser and Gerard would be too occupied in some way to get it sorted in the next few hours.

* * *

**FROM** : admin@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : Local security patch.

 **ATTCH:** v10321update.exe

Kaiser,

After last week’s security breach I’ve made another patch, but this one needs to be installed locally. This is because the servers require local administration permission in order to make modifications to your operating system’s power supply unit. This will let the drivers on the central processing unit coordinate with the server’s random access memory to enhance security and antivirus software subroutines over the network’s universal serial buses. If you want more information on how this works, just give me a call and I’ll explain it. I think we’re both aware you’re not very technologically literate, so I’ll make sure to dumb it down for you.

Although frankly, if you don’t know what a central processing unit is then it’s no wonder Taylor suckered you.

Either install the patch yourself, or call me and I’ll hold your fucking hand. But you better not touch the internet until this vulnerability is patched.

Gerard

* * *

Hopefully the technobabble would dissuade Kaiser from calling Gerard to ask questions. And the threat of a lecture if he called to verify the attachment was legitimate.

She hit “send.”

She waited. According to her clock, it was after dark, so…

Her laptop pinged.

Oh, god.

He’d clicked it.

He’d fucking clicked it.

He’d fucking clicked it _again_.

She cackled.

Fuck yeah, this wasn’t over yet!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowledge is power, so Wendy checks on her enemies before she makes her next move.

By now, Kaiser had clicked dodgy links and installed bugs into his computer on no less than three separate occasions.

She cackled so loudly that for a moment, she forgot she was hiding in a dumpster from the cops.

She skipped into Kaiser’s email once more, and then went back in time. Not the Wednesday that Paul died, but farther back into Kaiser’s archives to retrace their steps after Wendy nuked the server a week ago.

* * *

**FROM** : admin@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : [all users]

 **SUBJECT** : Damage report.

Here’s the data.

\- There was no Masquerade breach, only a very poorly thought out prank. The person responsible is being dealt with. Severely.

\- Data from last Sunday onward was completely wiped in the crash. It is gone. Permanently.

\- Email is all that’s currently up. Trajan’s Net is the next priority. Even I don’t want to deal with an angry Methuselah if he wakes up to find it’s down when the sun sets in Rome.

\- The NozHub will follow, and then the less popular sites.

\- Prince Michaela has no involvement in server restoration. Stop trying to get her to put pressure on us, I’ll just slow down out of spite.

\- This will be done properly, not quickly. Deal with it.

Uncle Smelly

* * *

**FROM** : admin@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : This bullshit is why you’re frozen out of your main email account…

… until you learn to stop fucking downloading .exes. NEVER DO THAT. THOSE ARE EXECUTABLE PROGRAMS. THEY INSTALL SHIT ON YOUR COMPUTER. THAT’S WHAT .EXE MEANS. IT MEANS EXECUTE. YOU MORON.

I can’t believe you fucking clicked something knowing who it came from. Oh my god.

You better never, EVER click an attachment in an email again until I have PERSONALLY vetted it, understand?! Unless it’s from me, DON’T FUCKING CLICK IT. And don’t forget to check for a spoofed address if I DO send you shit. I’ve taught you how, don’t fuck up.

“This will not happen again” god you better not make a liar out of me.

Anyway I don’t know what the fuck Williams/Taylor did, but the server kept crashing so I had to roll it back almost an entire goddamn week. I didn’t have any more recent backups because until now it’s run as clean as a whistle! The fuck was in that file?!

Gerard

PS: Ugggh, it’s been so long since I put on Uncle Smelly I have no idea how that last email came across. Hope I was “I don’t have time for this shit” enough. I mean I don’t have time, but it’s about image, you know? Shit, I’ve lost my touch.

PPS: Calebros pre-emptively covered your ass to Michaela. You better not make this mistake again because if what really happened comes out, Calebros’s good reputation is fucked. I know I push him hard, but I swear to god if you fuck up so bad that you take Calebros down with you, I’ll make you wish you’d pissed off the Nictuku instead. You don’t deserve the help he gave you. You owe him. You better make it worth it, you sniveling little shit.

* * *

**FROM** : mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **SUBJECT** : Progress report.

Calebros —

I hate owing people, but you own me body and soul now I guess. Gerard went and bitched to me about having to go all Uncle Smelly on everyone complaining about the server downtime, then went Uncle Smelly on _me_.

Update on the situation — I was picking up my ghoul’s computer to deliver to Uncle Stinkface and you’ll never guess who the fuck I saw walk out of her workplace like her boss didn’t arrange to have her murdered. Like yeah, “boss set a vampire hit squad on me, guess it’s time to go to work for business as fucking usual” or something!

Tailed her through NYC, but then the cab caught on and blew a red. Driver couldn’t find it after that, but she noted the plates so not all is lost.

Problem is, the cab place won’t run plates over the weekend. If she’s flown the coop, we won’t be able to track her until Monday evening again at the earliest, and that’s if they step on it. She almost certainly knows we want her. That gives her time we don’t have.

I’ve got her apartment watched just in case, but it’s getting past midnight. She’s not coming home.

Allegra’s got into her apartment and is trying to crack the hard drive.

Ugh.

My ghoul’s instructed to get in contact as soon as she shows up again.

Kaiser

* * *

**FROM** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **TO** : mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **CC:** admin@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: Progress report.

Kaiser,

Thank you for the progress report.

I have one of my own to make — Qadir managed to track down Charlotte for me. It’s obvious from the message Wendy sent us, but I wanted to cover our bases: Wendy Taylor is confirmed not to be one of Thomas Arturo’s ghouls.

Prince Michaela accepted the story I fed her quite easily. Aren’t you glad you have a friend on the New York Primogen Council?

But you owe me a favor now, and I already know how you can pay it back. Communication between intel and IT — in other words, you and Gerard — isn’t the best, and I have an idea for who could serve as our liaison… feel up to doing some “training” for the role? It’ll take about fifteen years…

C :-)

* * *

**FROM** : mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : nosferatu@nypc.nod; admin@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: RE: Progress report.

Absolutely fucking not.

Don’t even joke about that.

As for Taylor’s computer, we “liberated” the hard drive (and the mother of all dust clouds, holy shit, how much crap was IN that machine?! Even I know to de-dust my computers!) and brought it back. Still no luck getting into it. Gerard’s trying his best, but he’s clearly met his match. He says the usual exploits aren’t working, and the dictionary attack went nowhere, so he moved on to brute forcing it. Gerard says that the password is likely so complicated that it could literally take years of running this program 24/7 to get in.

It’s almost dawn so we’re calling it a night.

Still nothing from my contacts. She’s gone dark, for now, but we’re waiting for her.

Kaiser

PS: Gerard told me what you said about Paul. Look, he’s a fucking idiot, but he’s never fucked up like this before. Thirty years, Cal. Thirty. Can’t we wait to see how this turns out first?

* * *

**FROM** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **TO** : mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod; admin@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: RE: RE: Progress report.

Kaiser,

Look, I usually am more forgiving of mistakes than I am of malicious acts, and with a thirty-year ghoul it’s clear whatever went wrong was due to a sincere mistake.

But that’s the problem — “whatever went wrong.” We don’t know what the exact error was because Gerard couldn’t turn anything up on his desktop. Gerard suspects that whatever Wendy did, she deliberately covered her tracks. It’s one thing to learn from a mistake and move forward, but how can your ghoul learn from a mistake when he doesn’t know what it was?

And the consequences aren’t the same as accidentally draining a Kine dry in front of a witness. She had access to an immense amount of information. We _cannot_ risk another Masquerade violation of this magnitude again, especially when it’s unclear how she did it, exactly.

Our entire existence is now in danger and with Wendy missing, we have no way of containing it or being able to determine the extent of the damage. I lied to Prince Michaela to protect you, but in doing so I may have signed our death warrants. If this gets out of hand, it will get back to her that I lied to her. That will lead to the deaths of every member in this Warren who knew about it and didn’t report it to her.

I can only hope I made the right choice.

He has to go.

Keep him alive for a few more days to watch out for Wendy. She won’t contact him, but we need him to probe mutual acquaintances for her location and to uncover anything she may have shared.

That’s the most I can give you.

C :-(

* * *

Oh. Look. Calebros used a frowny face.

Good to see he was sad over ordering someone’s murder.

* * *

**FROM** : mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : nosferatu@nypc.nod; admin@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: RE: RE: RE: Progress report.

Dammit.

Look. Don’t ever mistake me for some self sacrificing douchelord, but if it gets back to Michaela, just throw me under the fucking bus. I know you’re considering it if that happens, anyway, but just fucking do it. Stop trying to play the saint and morally superior fucklord. Better me than all five of us plus anyone else in the Warren that might get dragged into this.

I’ll make some arrangements, we’ll sort out a signal, and then you can rat me out as some terrible traitor who lied to you, took advantage of your obnoxiously reasonable nature (let’s be real, that’ll be more believable than the idea you actually lied to her) and risked everyone in the Warren, and I’ll conveniently disappear before the Sheriff can arrest me.

Not like it’d be the first time the clan’s pulled this trick.

I’ll give Paul most of next week to get information from coworkers, then I’ll have Qadir put him down. At least I know he won’t be a psychopath about it.

Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go drown some kittens before I go so soft people start thinking I’m cuddly.

Kaiser

* * *

Well. That email was… interesting. Should she hate Kaiser for throwing his ghoul under the bus? Admire him for at least showing a shred of remorse? Respect him for not wanting the rest of his Warren to be killed? Disgusted that his showing any kind of compassion or empathy was so unusual for him that she’d respect him for it instead of just taking it for granted, like she would in any other normal fucking person?

She didn’t know what to feel.

Wendy skipped ahead to Tuesday night, the night after which she’d turned in the evidence to the police.

* * *

**FROM** : johnnyboy@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod; nosferatu@nypc.nod; admin@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : Kaiser!!! Congratulations on your (future) new baby!

Heard the news. It’s a girl! We’re all so excited!! We’re getting banners printed and everything!!!

I mean, provided you can fucking catch her.

* * *

Was Kaiser stalking an ex-girlfriend, or something? What poor fuck had Kaiser stick his dick in her?

Ew.

* * *

**FROM:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** johnnyboy@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** RE: Kaiser!!! Congratulations on your (future) new baby!

Fuck you, John.

Those Kine you had running the plates took so fucking long that by the time Qadir got to the motel they tracked her to, she was already gone! The trail has gone cold and my ghoul says she didn’t turn up to work two days in a row!

Now Qadir thinks I’m running a multi-part practical joke on him because he barged into a couple of horny kine having a raging affair with whips and chains, and he’s refusing to put down my ghoul so I have to get someone else to fucking do it.

Get fucked,

Kaiser

* * *

**FROM:** admin@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** nosferatu@nypc.nod; mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** Kaiser? SERIOUSLY?!

Calebros, what the hell?

Look, I know I disagree with you about clan decisions all the time, so you’re not going to pay attention to this objection any more than you pay attention to all the other objections I’ve ever made. It’ll just be white fucking noise to you, I’m sure.

But KAISER?!

Seriously?!?!

*He doesn’t* want to do it. *I want* to do it!

Isn’t the choice obvious, here?!

So why the HELL are you giving her to him?! I could learn so much from her. I need another hand with SchreckNET, it’s growing bigger every month and the other clans outside of our Primogen Council are starting to want in. With her help I’d never have to worry about bullshit like this past week happening again.

Yes, I know, blah blah blah, I should be here assuring you that it’ll never happen again.

But the fact is, I can’t fucking do that. It’d be a goddamn lie.

I’m one person, Calebros. I can’t go to a university and get a computer science degree like the Kine can. I can’t walk into a book store and pick up a copy of the newest programming languages. Every bit of tech knowledge I’ve got, I had to scrape for. I need every edge I can get from her. Our clan as a whole need me to get every edge I can. I’m in a constant fucking arms race with the local kine. We need SchreckNET, but it’ll hurt us more than it helps if *you don’t give me every advantage you possibly can*.

And you gave her to fucking KAISER?!

Gerard

* * *

**FROM:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** admin@schrecknet.nod; nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **SUBJECT:** RE: Kaiser? SERIOUSLY?!

I saw that subject line and was absolutely sure I was about to get bitched at about something stupid again, but for once I’m in fucking agreement.

Ugh.

Fuck me.

Kaiser

* * *

They weren’t talking about _her_ , were they?

* * *

**FROM:** nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **TO:** admin@schrecknet.nod; mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** RE: RE: Kaiser? SERIOUSLY?!

Kaiser, Gerard —

I know neither of you like this.

Believe it or not, Gerard, I actually do have the Nosferatu’s best interests at heart. I will cover my reasons as best as I can, and if you still disagree, we will both have to accept that. As usual.

Firstly, her greatest strengths lie in your area of expertise, Gerard. From the data I’ve seen, she has more to learn from Kaiser than from you. I have to look at her development too, not just yours. Yes, I am aware that your development is integral to the Nosferatu as a whole in regards to SchreckNET, but I strongly believe hers can play a vital role as well.

Secondly, we need a liaison between you two. Your spheres are so separate right now that one of you can talk at the other and the second won’t have a clue what the first is saying. Communication is abysmal in that regard. That needs to be fixed.

Her sphere overlaps both of yours. As she learns from Kaiser, she can become the perfect go-between you both need. Because of that, both of your roles will be boosted — Kaiser by the IT knowledge she can bring to him, and you by the intel she can bring to you. That will strengthen the Nosferatu as a whole — through the implementation of technology into our intel, and the implementation of intel into our technology.

Thirdly, as her role will cover supporting both of you, you can learn from her as much as you like, Gerard. It’ll just be a while before she can give you more attention as she will take some time to learn the ropes from Kaiser. It’s not like you’ll never, ever get to talk to her. She’ll be in the same damn Warren as you the whole time.

This is final.

C

* * *

They wouldn’t talk so casually about it if it was her they wanted to recruit, would they? They had no guarantee she’d join. They had no guarantee she’d keep her mouth shut if she _did_ join. They had no guarantee she was trustworthy at all, and plenty for the opposite.

So they had to be talking about somebody else…

Right?

* * *

**FROM:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** admin@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** “This is final”

No, Calebros, this is bullshit.

* * *

**FROM:** admin@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** RE: “This is final”

You fucking said it.

Seriously, can’t she spend a year with me doing server stuff and THEN learn intel? Seriously, it’s not like she has to be your childe to learn from you. Why can’t I Embrace her then dump her on you later?

Sometimes Calebros misses the absolutely fucking obvious solutions. It’s not she’d be fucking blood bound to me.

Got some news from your best Toreador friend. I’m writing a new email so Mr “this is final” can see it.

* * *

**FROM** : admin@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod; nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **SUBJECT** : Taylor’s just made another move.

We have bigger problems right now.

Taylor surfaced again.

She printed out a bunch of shit from our servers and handed it in to the Kine police.

The good news is that the Camarilla had a couple of ghouls there who intercepted the files ASAP.

The bad news is that the ghouls belonged to a certain Toreador whom Kaiser punched in the face last week and who was absolutely _delighted_ at the opportunity to fulfill his Camarilla duty and report this to Prince Michaela… unless Kaiser gives him literally everything we have on Charlotte Hansard.

 _Everything_.

I already had a talk with you about what happens if you get Calebros in trouble, Kaiser. It’ll make Uncle Smelly look friendly.

Cough it up. We need to see the damage Taylor almost did. Might be a lead in there, too.

Gerard

PS: Wendy, if you’ve managed to Trojan Kaiser again and you’re reading this before he can, please have some fucking mercy and cut us a break. Give us a moment to catch up, eh?

* * *

**FROM** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **TO** : admin@schrecknet.nod; mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: Taylor’s just made another move.

Kaiser,

Thank you for passing on Hansard’s files to Gerard.

Gerard, I know we’ve just discussed this in person but I want to keep you in the conversation chain regardless.

To both of you:

We are exceptionally lucky this turned out the way it did.

Arturo gave me the files an hour ago, so I’m giving you one final update before sunrise now that I’ve reviewed them.

The good news is that Wendy was clearly only trying to protect herself by doing this. She was making no apparent attempt to set hunters on our tail — Kaiser told me that our spies there are reporting no movement. She failed to include IP addresses in her evidence (which wouldn’t lead to the Warren anyway — I suppose she’s smart enough she knew they wouldn’t be useful, and that this wasn’t an oversight), and Gerard said the WhoIs for SchreckNET just leads to the warehouse, so we’re in the clear in both regards.

All the files included was evidence surrounding the embezzlement Kaiser was having his ghoul perform and contextual emails. This is still a problem because the embezzlement can ultimately lead back to us if the Kine that saw the files perform an inquiry, but less of a problem than we could have had. In addition, Kaiser has assured me the ghoul involved will be put down after sundown as there are no leads among his and Wendy’s mutual coworkers.

We are hoping that this means she didn’t tell anyone anything except that she’s scared for her life, and the details most relevant to that.

We were able to secure her phone records — aside from her egregious internet use, she only calls one number regularly… in Australia. Too far to do any damage if we act quickly. I’ve just had Allegra teach John how to get in touch with Sarrasine’s people to pass the number on, so he will be responsible for that.

But, best case scenario, it looks like Wendy did not actually want to cause us trouble. She seems to have only wanted to put the ghoul in jail and protect herself from us.

And wind up Kaiser, obviously, but who can resist that?

But this best case scenario may actually be what’s going on. All we need to do is get a hold of her and take her down into the gymnasium, and then it’s tied up into a neat little bow. No harm, no foul, and we can all sigh in relief.

C :-)

PS — As long as she can’t guess Kaiser’s new email address, we don’t have to worry about him clicking any more Trojans. Having a random string of letters for his new email was a wise decision, I think. Even if Taylor had an updated list of addresses, she’d have trouble figuring out which one was his if she wanted to exploit his nosiness.

Ah, curiosity. Both Kaiser’s greatest strength and biggest weakness.

* * *

**FROM:** admin@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** nosferatu@schrecknet.nod; mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** RE: RE: Taylor’s just made another move

Allegra and I have $50 each on the bet that she’ll sucker Kaiser into letting her back on SchreckNET anyway. She didn’t just vanish off the radar, she handed those files in, tried to get the Kine involved — she’s not out of the game yet, and she knows we have a sucker.

She’ll be back. Mark my words.

Gerard

PS: So, who do you think will get to be Toreador Primogen once Arturo bumps off Hansard?

* * *

**FROM:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** admin@schrecknet.nod; nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **SUBJECT:** RE: RE: RE: Taylor’s just made another move.

Fuck you, I’ll match that, you piece of shit. I’ve learned my lesson.

Kaiser

* * *

Wait.

Hold on a sec.

They had her mother’s phone number?! _They had people in Australia?!_

Fucking hell! How big were the Camarilla?!

* * *

**FROM** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **TO** : admin@schrecknet.nod; mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : Wednesday night update.

Kaiser,

I’ve negotiated with Arturo. He’s volunteered his ghouls to help our task in exchange for more help with Charlotte. They’re staking Wendy’s place out. They’ll pick her up as soon as she comes back, or they’ll kill her, if she’s too difficult. I’d rather she was alive so we could find out to what extent she talked, unless… you’ve _finally_ gotten into that hard drive, Kaiser? You’ve had it a while.

I have to agree with what Gerard said before — she’s not out of the game yet. The ghouls are reporting that she’s left valuables including birth certificates, IDs and bank statements at her apartment. She fully intends to return at some point.

She’s a paranoid one though — lots of baseball bats. Seven at last count. She hides them in the weirdest places; one of them raided her pantry for a snack and found one in there.

She’s absolutely delightful.

C :-)

PS: $150 on Kaiser. I’m sure she’ll be back, but come on, even Kaiser wouldn’t fall for a Trojan a third time. John agrees, he’s in for $20. He’s asking around the Warrens. Most people so far are backing us.

PPS: I can’t say I enjoy Jyhad at all, but you don’t think Arturo would do it? I think Langley has her eye on the position, but I think she’s not charismatic enough to get the support. Maybe Potter? He’s friends with everyone, even many outside the Toreador.

* * *

**FROM** : mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : admin@schrecknet.nod; nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: Wednesday night update.

Pfft, god, no. Arturo wants maximum influence and minimum responsibility. He wouldn’t touch the position of Primogen with a ten-foot barge pole. If he wanted it, he could take it — he’s barely a Neonate, but he’s popular enough it wouldn’t matter. Thing is, he wouldn’t want it. His backstabbing of Hansard is personal, not political. He’s been sulking over his Embrace for almost twenty years now no matter how over it he pretends to be.

Langley’s incompetent. Potter badmouths everyone behind their backs and everyone else knows it. That’s why everyone pretends to be his friend, they don’t want to give him ammo.

My money’s on Xanthium. She’s like a gothic Victoria Ash and to this night I have never found a speck of dirt on her. She’s that good.

As for Taylor, John managed to track her mother halfway across the world to an address in Sydney. Fat lot of good that’s done, still have nothing on Taylor herself. He’s sent another message to the Sydney Nosferatu to see if they can uncover any contact between the two. Gotta admit, the kid’s not that bad — he was a PI in life so he knows what he’s doing. It’s fucking annoying he’s hit a dead end but he’s looked at it from angles I wouldn’t have even thought about, so maybe Taylor’s just that good.

And no, we gave up on the hard drive and just sledgehammered it. Not like Taylor’s gonna need it where she’s going.

Kaiser

PS: “Even Kaiser wouldn’t fall for a Trojan a third time”? Fuck off.

* * *

**FROM** : nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **TO** : admin@schrecknet.nod; mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: RE: Wednesday night update.

You were the one who sledgehammered the hard drive, weren’t you?

C ;-)

* * *

**FROM** : mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO** : admin@schrecknet.nod; nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **SUBJECT** : RE: RE: RE: Wednesday night update.

You fucking bet I was.

Kaiser

* * *

Damn it! They had better not hurt her mother… did Wendy dare warn her, or would that make things worse?

She shifted, and bumped her leg, sending a fresh wave of pain that was so overwhelming she almost threw up. The whole time it had continued to ache, but now maybe enough time had passed she dared make a break for it…

She needed to get to the ER. But presumably the ghoul-cops were still staking out her apartment and waiting to see if she went back. It was also possible they’d told the non-ghouls of the NYPD that she was wanted. It was now clear that it wasn’t the law that wanted her, but the trio of Kaiser, Gerard and Calebros.

Wouldn’t matter in the end, though, would it? The cops were against her all the same.

* * *

**FROM:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** admin@shrecknet.nod; nosferatu@nypc.nod; sirensong@schrecknet.nod; johnnyboy@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** URGENT: We have movement!

All hands on deck!

Soon as the sun went down I got a report that Taylor returned to the scene of the crime. She got away, but she’s injured. Pass on the word to everyone else in the know.

I’m moving into position. I know which place to watch. I won’t say where ‘cause next time she’s hacking one of you bitches.

I’ve got a good feeling about this.

Kaiser

* * *

**FROM:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** admin@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** Really, Gerard?!

Really?!

You lecture me about attachments, and then you fucking send me a security patch over email?!

And you want me to install it NOW?! Now, of all times?!?! When I’m on stakeout?!

You asshole.

Kaiser

* * *

**FROM:** admin@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** RE: Really, Gerard?!

What patch?

I didn’t send out a patch. Why would I send you a patch? I wouldn’t do that over email. That’s what the NozHub is for!

Gerard

* * *

Just as Wendy was about to shut the computer down to leave for the ER, a new email appeared.

* * *

**UNREAD MESSAGE:**

**FROM:** admin@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** mrxlttn@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** wait a sec

I cannot _fucking_ believe this.

Gerard Rafin

* * *

**MESSAGE DRAFT:**

**FROM:** mrxltnn@schrecknet.nod

 **TO:** admin@schrecknet.nod

 **SUBJECT:** RE: wait a sec

:-D

**MESSAGE SENT.**

* * *

-o-

It must have been midnight or later when Wendy finally limped out of the dumpster. The lid was much heavier this time, and she fell out, almost letting the lid crash down on her. A few homeless people sleeping nearby barely gave her a glance. When she stood up the world swam.

She turned on her cell phone and called for a cab. She wiped congealed fluid off her skin while she waited on hold.

“You smell like shit,” grunted one of the hobos.

Yeah, she wasn’t going to be popular with the cabbie.

She ordered the cab, then made to turn off the phone, but then the notice “34 missed calls” blared at her. What the hell? The earliest was on Wednesday; her phone had been off since she’d first fled her apartment. As she scrolled through, most of them were from unknown numbers. Others were from phones from all over New York City. She recognised a few numbers as being from her coworkers, but they were in the minority, and limited to Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday — when Paul was asking after her, no doubt.

But the others. What was going on there?

The Nosferatu could be behind that, but she had more important issues to take care of before she dealt with this.

She collapsed her antenna and turned off the phone.

She was still light headed when the cab pulled up. The cabbie was, as she’d predicted, not happy at all. Actually, he was kind of freaked.

“ER, please,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, “you look like you really fucking need it. The hell happened to your _ear_?”

“I got shot.”

“No shit!”

It was only then that she looked down at her blouse.

Oh.

That was a _lot_ of blood.

“Sorry,” she said.

She tried to pay with cash when they arrived, but the cabbie wasn’t having any of it and insisted on card. She tried not to leave bloodstains as she input her PIN.

She sat outside the hospital on the kerb. By now she could barely walk. Her ankle was almost three times its usual size from walking on it between the dumpster and the cab, and now the pain had returned with a vengeance that she was tearing up again. She ended up turning her cell back on — a couple more missed calls from the unknown numbers — and calling reception to help her limp in because of how bad it was.

“Also, just warning you, I smell like shit,” she said. “I broke it falling out of a window into a dumpster, so yeah. Warn whoever you send that I literally smell like garbage.”

“Uh,” said the receptionist on the phone, “will do” and then hung up.

Wendy left the phone on this time.

An EMT was there in moments — a young man in scrubs and a mask. She could see the smile in his eyes as he waved.

He slung her arm around his shoulder, as if she didn’t reek.

“Sorry about the smell,” said Wendy.

“Honestly,” he said, “I’ve been thrown up on twice tonight, so this really isn’t that bad.”

“I feel really dizzy,” she said.

“Yeah,” said the EMT, “that’s probably from blood loss. Head wounds bleed like hell. That’s presuming you’re not concussed.”

And then she was in triage, sitting in a waiting room as if she wasn’t covered in blood and rubbish stains. She hadn’t noticed the smell after a while in the dumpster, but now in the sanitised waiting room she was keenly aware of it. The other denizens of the ER gave her a wide berth, and, really, who could blame them?

At least the staff gave her painkillers.

She glanced up. For a moment she thought she was sitting opposite a stranger in an even worse state than she was, but then she tilted her head and so did the other woman.

It was a mirror.

The EMT hadn’t batted an eye, but she stared at herself. She gaped. She gawked. She was covered in various fluids in different shades of brown and yellow, her white blouse had turned almost completely crimson, and her neck and hair were caked in dried blood. There was a bloody mess on her face where her nose used to be from being smashed on the ground by that ghoul. Shit, if she’d realised it was that bad she’d have called a fucking ambulance, not gotten sucked into her laptop. She reached up to her ear. Yeah. A chunk of that had definitely been taken off by the bullet.

Wow.

Surprisingly, her ear and head didn’t hurt any more. Maybe the pain from her leg had just drowned it out. Or maybe the painkillers were kicking in already. Now that she was in the light, she could see her ankle had swollen up even more than she’d thought. They’d have to cut her shoe off.

And then, in a sudden wave, exhaustion descended on her.

It had been a long week. It had been a long day. It had been a long _night_. And now she’d have to stay up longer waiting to be seen instead of going to bed.

At her hip, in the messenger bag covered in bloody hand prints, her phone rang.

She picked it up. Her phone was covered in red smears, too. There was blood all over her hands and fingers she hadn’t noticed before.

It was the strange number again.

She sighed.

She had the feeling she knew who it was.

She pulled out the antenna, pressed a button and put it to her ear. “Sup, Kaiser.”

“Good evening, Wendy,” said a voice that sounded like somebody had gargled acid. “Actually, this is Calebros. It looks like you just lost me a bet.”

“And it looks like you lost me a boss, you murderous son of a bitch,” said Wendy.

“Mmm,” said Calebros. “Our ghoul in the ER, Jackie, tells us you have a smashed nose and a chunk of your ear has been torn out. A nurse has just given you some gauze and water to clean yourself up with as you wait.”

“Oh.” Wendy’s free hand froze in the middle of dabbing at the blood on her face. “God damn it.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's over.
> 
> Or is it?
> 
> (We all know it’s not. This isn’t how it ends. It’s never how it ends. Now it’s time for Wendy to learn about new beginnings.)

A French-accented voice in the background of the call interrupted the awkward silence. It sounded like somebody shaking loose gravel in a can. “Can you ask her how the hell she found Kaiser’s new email?” He sounded more impressed and excited than exasperated. “Ohhh, was it from that ghoul’s email? He can’t secure it if he’s dead, can he? If he used a basic password then a dictionary attack would crack it easily — ”

“Can’t be him,” said a third voice — quieter than Calebros’s, about the same volume as the Frenchman’s. “I made him give me his email password before he snuffed it and deleted everything.”

“Yeah, but did you remember to empty the trash folder?”

“Did I empty the what?”

“So,” said Calebros. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to have a civilised discussion, Ms Taylor?”

Damn. They even knew about the _Ms_ thing.

“Right.” Wendy slumped in her chair with a sigh. “Tell me what the hell you want.”

The other two voices were bickering in the background.

“You told me not to click any links that didn’t come from you! It came from you, so I clicked it!”

“And you didn’t think to check if it had been spoofed, given that we had that security breach _last fucking week_?”

“You email me all the time, you never shut the fuck up, you think I’m gonna check _every single fucking time_?!”

“Every time I send you an attachment, I hope!”

“Gentlemen, if you please,” said Calebros.

The Nosferatu in the background fell silent, except for what might have been a garbage disposal attempting to run on silent mode, or perhaps somebody muttering.

“It sounds like the NYPD ghouls roughed you up quite a bit, Ms Wendy,” said Calebros.

“The fake cops? Yeah.” Fuck, those assholes had been strong. And fast.

“Oh, no, they’re real cops,” said Calebros, “they just happen to belong to a member of our organisation.”

“The Toreador, Thomas Arturo, yes. The one that wanted the dirt on Charlotte Hansard? Is she dead yet, since gossiping over email about assassinations is a thing you lot do?”

“God,” said the French Nosferatu. That must be Gerard, then. “She’s like a baby Kaiser. I don’t know if I love her or hate her.”

“I’m really disturbed by the fact that that’s even a question,” said the third voice. Kaiser.

“No, her destruction will be next week,” said Calebros. “I’m sorry for your injuries, Wendy, we’d hoped to take you alive and unharmed, but apparently you’re a fighter.” He sounded impressed. “We know human bodies don’t take it well when they hurl themselves out of third storey windows. It was only a matter of time until you showed up at a medical centre somewhere, and NYC Health and Hospitals was the closest to your address.”

“And it was my idea to stake this place out!” hooted Kaiser. “For once I outsmarted _you_ , bitch!”

“Tell Kaiser, ‘fuck you.’”

“That’s quite alright, he can hear you,” said Calebros mildly. “Something that caught my interest, however — Arturo’s men swore to me they checked the dumpster, but apparently not thoroughly enough. Not afraid of garbage?”

“No.”

“Not afraid of stink?”

“Nope.”

“Rats?”

“I’m more afraid of dying than any of those things.”

Silence from Calebros, and then a muffled laugh from what she thought was Gerard. It wasn’t like he laughed Frenchly, or anything.

“Let me make one thing clear though,” said Wendy. “I may be afraid. I may be terrified out of my wits. But there’s something you’re doing that’s making me _angry_.”

“Oh?” Calebros sounded amused.

“If you touch a hair on my mother’s head I will go fucking nuclear on you,” said Wendy. “I will go a _lot_ higher than the cops, and this time I’ll make sure to distribute the evidence far and wide.”

“Oh?” said Calebros again.

This time, he did not sound amused.

“Do you really think the files I gave to your crooked cops were all the evidence I had?” said Wendy. “That I didn’t have copies and back ups? Your tech guy Gerry might be totally fucking incompetent, but I’m not. Don’t think that the information I gave the cops was _all_ the information I had. You touch my mother, you so much as look in her direction again, you’re all dead. You might kill me, but I promise you, you’ll follow close behind.”

A pause.

“Please don’t ever call me Gerry again,” said Gerard.

“She’s threatening us!” said Kaiser. “That’s adorable!”

“ _Are_ you threatening us, Wendy?” said Calebros.

“Damn fucking right I am!” said Wendy. Even the peanut gallery went quiet at her outburst. Other patients in the room cast her nervous looks. “You think that me being scared means I’m _stupid_? That I’m _weak_? Oh, no, Calebros. Fear is what makes us ‘humans’ strong. Fear is what sends us hurtling out of a third-storey window and has us walk away with only a broken ankle. Fear is what lets us survive being shot twice. Fear is what lets us keep one step ahead of people like you. You touch my mother? I’ll show you the full extent of what a terrified ‘Kine’ can do. I’ll show you the monster inside me. Trust me — you people have nothing on it.”

Silence.

“You don’t know what you’re messing with.” Calebros’s voice dropped an octave.

“Do you think I care, when it comes to the welfare of my family?” said Wendy, matching it. “You creepy-ass cultists clearly know jack fucking shit if you think that most people wouldn’t fight a horde of lions for their family. I’m afraid of death, yes. But I’d gladly face it a million times over to keep her safe. And if you think that’s impossible, you don’t know anyone at all, because there are many out there who would do exactly the same in my shoes.”

Another pause.

“Funny,” said Calebros, “I once read that no matter how dangerous predators are, it’s the prey that are the most dangerous. Herbivores, not carnivores. Hippos kill more people each year than lions. The Canadians live in terror of moose rutting season and of their geese, and don’t really care about wolves. The predator takes it for granted that they rule the world. But prey? The prey live their whole lives in the shadows of their hunters. When they think they’re in danger, they’ll take you down with them, because they’re fighting for their very lives. A true predator acknowledges that. A true predator knows that every time they hunt prey, they might not come back alive.”

Where was he going with this?

Wendy stayed quiet.

“I’m offering you a choice, Wendy,” said Calebros. “Your mother… how much did you tell her about us?”

“Nothing,” said Wendy. “I haven’t even spoken to her since last week. She’s probably freaked out to hell. You supposedly have my phone records, you can check for yourself.”

She heard shuffling papers.

“Checks out,” said Kaiser’s voice. “Even the cell phone. If you’re worried about snail mail, we’ll have Sarrasine’s guys intercept it for a few weeks.”

“I didn’t mail her anything either,” said Wendy. “God, no, why would I drag her into this shit? That’s the worst thing I could have done.”

“Wendy,” said Calebros, “we’re not going to kill her unless we have to. If you want, think of it this way: dead bodies draw attention. I don’t want dead bodies.”

Wendy stayed quiet.

“Anyway,” said Calebros, “as I said, I’m offering you a choice. You can join us…”

Somehow, she wasn’t surprised to hear that. “Or I can die?”

(Somebody in the background, she wasn’t sure who, suddenly added a “DUN dun DUN — ” Then there was a _thump!_ and a yelp.)

“Got it in one,” said Calebros, as if he wasn’t stuck with two of the Three Stooges.

“Some choice.”

“Look, Wendy,” said Calebros, and for a moment he almost sounded like a normal fucking person. “This isn’t me trying to be all evil vampire. We have responsibilities to maintain our secrets. This is bigger than you, bigger than us. The fact is, we can’t let who we are get out for the sake of our own survival and the survival of everyone around us. And we can’t erase your memory because you’ve been on the run for a week, and we don’t have any contacts powerful enough to wipe a week’s worth of memories.” Huh. Memory wiping was a thing they were capable of? A week ago she’d have called bullshit, but for some reason, now, the idea didn’t seem far-fetched. “The fact is, the only way we can keep a lid on this breach is if you join us, or if the secrets you know die with you. This isn’t me being a sadist. This is me being _practical_. I don’t want to scare you, but I don’t want you to do something that puts us all in danger either. You may not believe it, but most of us didn’t ask for this life, and we have to do what it takes to hold on to it because it’s all we have.”

She could hear her Australian accent thicken as she said, quietly, “You’re a bunch of arseholes.”

“We’re a bunch of assholes trying to survive, believe it or not,” said Calebros. “And I know what your answer will be. We need you, and you want to live, don’t you?”

Wendy hesitated.

In a small voice, she said, “I don’t know if I want to be a monster.”

It was a lie. She knew. She knew she didn’t want to. Didn’t want to join Paul’s killers, didn’t want to join the people who gossiped about Charlotte Hansard’s impending death like it was the latest episode of the X-Files, didn’t want to join hackers and drug lords and hitmen.

But she didn’t want to die, either.

“You may not want it,” said Calebros, “but can you live with it?”

Wendy didn’t answer.

“Kaiser’s ghoul will pick you up,” said Calebros. “Literally. Don’t worry about the broken leg, it won’t be an issue in the end. One way or another. Kaiser said his ghoul gave you painkillers.”

Who gave her painkillers? She couldn’t even remember the face of the EMT who gave them to her. Just a blue mask, and blue scrubs. She wasn’t even sure if it had been a man or a woman.

“Yeah,” Wendy breathed. “Okay.”

“One last thing,” said Calebros. “You don’t actually know what we _are_ , do you? You’ve read it a dozen times but you don’t seem to comprehend it.”

Wendy said nothing.

“Because if you did,” said Calebros, “I think you’d have reacted differently. If you comprehended what you saw, you’d have known better than to go to the police. You’d have known who to go to. And you didn’t give enough information to really hurt us, either. Only Paul.”

“I didn’t want Paul to die,” she blurted out.

“I know,” said Calebros. “But he put us all at risk, so I had to order Kaiser to have him put down. Kaiser wasn’t happy about it. Even Kaiser gets attached. He doesn’t show it, but he does. We all do.”

“Fuck you,” said Kaiser, in the background.

“We all get attached,” said Calebros, “and to be honest, I think Gerard and I are already attached to you. Even Kaiser is excited, I think.”

“Am _not_.” Kaiser sounded mortified.

“You’re a smart cookie, Wendy. We’d like you to be with us. You could be a real part of the family, and I think we need you, too.”

Wendy said nothing.

“Anyway,” said Calebros, “I’ll have Kaiser give you a tour. And hopefully, at the end of all this, we can meet up properly and I can welcome you into the Clan.”

“We’ll see,” said Wendy. She wondered if her voice sounded as hollow as she felt.

“We’ll see.” Calebros sounded grim and regretful. “We’ll see. I’ll be watching, Wendy.”

Someone moved to Wendy’s side. She glanced up. It was the EMT from the street and —

Oh.

He’d been the one to give her the painkillers.

She opened her mouth to say something to Calebros, although she didn’t know what.

It turned out not to matter.

Calebros had hung up.

“Hey,” said the EMT, removing his mask.

Wendy put the antenna away, and returned her phone to her satchel. “I’m guessing you’re not going to tell me that the doc is ready.”

“Nah,” said the EMT. “I’m Jackie. I’m to take you to Kaiser.”

Wendy sighed. “Of fucking course.”

It wasn’t like she could run. Not with her ankle like this.

Jackie picked her up. He didn’t seem to have any problem at all with it, like she was a doll in his arms. She put her arms around his neck as he carried her out of the ER. Nobody looked, and nobody stared, and nobody gave her more than a quick glance.

“Kaiser’s parked outside,” he said.

“Already?” said Wendy.

“Yup.”

“So you _haven_ _’t_ actually been thrown up on tonight, then?”

“Nope.”

“I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder.

“It’s okay.”

He carried her into the parking lot. There was a limo waiting. She’d seen it before.

A door popped open.

The limo was crowded. Empty seats were stuffed right next to a few CRT monitors dumped on top of computers crammed on the floor. Big and bulky, they were pressed as tightly together as physics would allow. There were wires everywhere and a couple of desktop towers. Damn, the computers made the limo feel like a dry sauna, and their fans made the vehicle sound like it was going to take off. There were some bulky laptops, and… hey, she’d seen that kind of cable in catalogues. Tech that wasn’t supposed to be released until next year. Did this limo have _its own mobile internet connection?_

Fuuuuuck, she wanted it!

One of the seats was occupied. There was someone in a creepy-ass costume sitting in the back of the limo, staring at her without breathing or blinking, all teeth and gaunt skin. It had a headset on. “Uh,” said Wendy, as Jackie lowered her into the seat and put her belt on. “The fuck is that thing?”

“ _Rude_ ,” it said, and she recognised the voice immediately. “I’m not the one who took a bath in a dumpster!”

Oh dear god, it was fucking Kaiser.

“Uh,” said Wendy, when what she’d really meant to say was _oh god Jackie, don_ _’t leave me alone with him!_

But it was too late, anyway, because Jackie had shut the door behind her and the limo had started up.

“Where’s Gerard and Calebros?” said Wendy.

Kaiser’s grin was positively shit-eating. There were so many teeth. Rows of them. “Invisible!”

“Fine,” she said, sullen like a grounded sixteen-year-old. “Be that way.” Kaiser was still grinning at her. “You don’t look what I expected you to look like.” The fuck was wrong with his _teeth?_

“Expecting somebody taller?” said Kaiser, innocently. “Nice way to say I’m fucking hideous.”

Wendy decided against flattering his ego. “Yeah, I was trying to be polite.”

“Polite?” Kaiser guffawed, as the limo started moving. Out of reflex, Wendy tried to steady herself on her broken leg, and almost cried out from the pain. “You fucking hack my email, not once, but _twice,_ and avoid the ghouls we send after you, you make me have to dispose of another ghoul I had for over thirty years, and _you_ pose as _me_ being a little shit on email — don’t think I didn’t hear about that email to Qadir! — and _now_ you think being polite is a good idea?”

“I mean,” Wendy, of course, ran her mouth off. “I wasn’t trapped in a moving car with you before. This kind of stuff is much harder face-to-face.”

“Ha!” Kaiser crowed. She could quite clearly see his teeth in his grin. They weren’t filed down. They grew _in_ that way.

“Uh,” said Wendy, “Why are you dressed like that?”

Kaiser looked down at his suit. “I’m trying to be _professional_.”

“No, I mean like… with the teeth. And the mask. Did a Toreador make that?”

Kaiser cackled. She thought she heard some other laughter, too. “Oh, I’ve _got_ to tell that one to Qadir, he’ll shit himself — “ Then, abruptly, he hit a button on his headset. “Yes, I’ve got the brat. What? No, I haven’t done it yet, hold your — you know you _purge_ , right? The fuck do you think we keep the gym for, because we want to get buff? You think we just politely wait for you to starve first, or give them a few laxatives? No, I’m not letting it shit and puke all over my limo.” Pause. “Yes, you absolutely did that. Did too. Did too. Did too. Ask Allegra, she had to clean up your mess, that’s what sires do!” He muttered, “and guess who’s on latrines duty next. Eugh.”

“Uh,” said Wendy.

“No, it’s not going to run off,” said Kaiser. “Chill the fuck out. We’re _coming_. And I swear to god if you weren’t joking about those banners I’ll give the Toreador blackmail on _every single one of you_ — yes, I know it’s not going to run off, because it fucking dived out of a third-storey window and now has a broken leg, genius! Did you completely fucking forget? Oh my god.”

“Uh,” said Wendy again.

“Ha ha ha,” said Kaiser, sarcastically. “Tell Qadir my sides are _splitting_ and I expect cash at the baby shower. Now, is there anything else, or can I — ugh.” He rolled his eyes, and flipped his microphone up. “I fucking hate every single person in the Warrens. A bunch of assholes. And Allegra’s brat is the _worst_. Three weeks old and thinks he can sass me. Fuck him. I’ll serve him his own ass on a silver platter and I’ll make him eat it.”

“Did you call me an it?” said Wendy. Then: “What is this about purging?”

Kaiser grinned at her.

She really didn’t like that grin.

Then Kaiser picked up a knife from… well, she wasn’t quite sure where from, there was too much crap stuffed in every possible crevice except the seats themselves. Even though the limo turned a corner as he rose, his body seemed to ignore physics entirely and picked its way over computer monitors and desktop towers as if they were on a steady platform. Or maybe thicket crowding a hiking trail. For some stupidass reason, he didn’t try going over the empty seats. Wendy flinched as he sat beside her. He smelt bizarre — strangely unpleasant, but not entirely repulsive.

“Why don’t we take care of that leg of yours?” he said. “You’re gonna need to walk down some stairs later and I’m not fucking carrying you.”

He slit his wrist with the knife. Wendy yelped.

“Really?” he said. “You’re squeamish with blood? Ugh.”

“No, I just — “ she flinched back as he offered his wrist to her, as if he was trying to pass her a book or something. “The fuck are you _doing_?!”

“Give it a sniff,” he said. “I’m sure it’ll occur to you.”

“Um,” said Wendy, giving Kaiser an uncertain side eye as she leaned closer. “O… kay.”

She inhaled.

“Oh.” Her eyes fluttered in surprise. “That smells… what the hell?”

“Smells tasty, doesn’t it?” said Kaiser. He gestured at her with the wrist. The red liquid trickled down his inner arm. “Go on. Have it.”

“Are you fucking serious?” But damn, it smelled _good_. When was the last time she ate?

“It’ll help your leg,” he said.

She stared at him for a moment longer, to make sure he wasn’t joking.

“Why the fuck not.” Wendy took his wrist in one hand and lowered her head to it.

_What the fuck was she doing?_

But — damn — the stuff that touched her lips was _delicious_. She couldn’t help the small sound of pleasant surprise that came from her throat as she sucked at his wound. She felt like she was having her favourite food after fasting for three days. Nothing had ever tasted as pleasant to her, or as addictive, and with each sip she felt herself grow a little more energised.

She whined when Kaiser took away his wrist, licking at it. She was still hungry. She hadn’t eaten since lunch. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and her eyes widened as she saw the wound on his wrist close underneath his tongue.

“That’s enough, I think,” Kaiser said, returning to his seat, the same way he left it. His feet seemed to find hidden oases of space between all the towers and monitors. “Don’t want you ending up in a second level blood bond after the Embrace, because then you’d get embarrassing. This’ll be enough for you to walk on your leg, and you’ll need to.”

“What the fuck is that?” said Wendy, as the limo came to a stop. “That stuff you just fed me?”

“Blood,” said Kaiser, and grinned at her like a shark.

“No way!”

And yet, a mental image of Paul, looking thirty years younger than his wife, came to mind.

Her heart flickered in nervousness.

Shit. Maybe “blood” wasn’t the name of some kind of street drug after all.

“Out you get,” said Kaiser. “End of the road, one way or another.”

Wendy glanced at him, then at the door beside him.

“Well?” said Kaiser. “You getting out or not?”

Wendy got out.

A blast of air that felt cold in comparison to the stuffiness of the limo hit her. Kaiser departed the car from the other side. He left the door open, but Wendy was distracted by what was in front of them — the half-built subway station near Wendy’s apartment block. The one that had never been finished. The one she’d almost wandered into in sleep-deprived excitement when this whole shitty episode started.

“Come on,” said Kaiser.

Wendy looked to Kaiser, but he wasn’t Kaiser any more — just a strange, old man of the same build and height and wearing the same clothes, gesturing to her impatiently. His looks were different, but his scowl was the same.

Shit was getting weirder and weirder by the second. Maybe she was dreaming. At what point had she fallen asleep and not woken up? Was she asleep in the ER right now? Maybe even passed out in the dumpster? Or had this entire, terrible episode been a dream? Was Paul still alive? Had the President’s bank account never been robbed?

“Come _on_ ,” snapped Kaiser, or maybe-Kaiser, as the few people still left out in New York at this hour filtered around them. “Are you coming or not?”

Wendy quietly nodded, and followed him.

She could walk. It didn’t hurt.

She looked down.

Her ankle was still swollen, but not nearly as much as before. It almost looked normal.

“Pah.” Kaiser opened an AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY door in the construction wall and slipped through. Nobody seemed to care that an old man in a suit was accessing an workers-only zone. Wendy followed him through. “You Kine are all the same. Sassing from behind a keyboard? Easy. Sassing in person? Harder, but a lot of you can still manage it. Sometimes when you think you’re about to die, you’ll still run your mouth off — like you’re _begging_ to be killed in the most agonising, humiliating way possible. But when it comes to entering the lion’s den…”

Kaiser took her down some steps. Past, although not through, some turnstiles.

It was dark. Very dark. Wendy stepped closer to him.

“… you all shut the fuck up,” he said. “Each and every one of you. They say only Kindred have the Beast, but in truth? I’m pretty sure you humans have it, too. Yours is just quieter. Yours just doesn’t get as _violent_ , usually. Your Beast knows you’re prey, not a predator, and it tells you when to shut the fuck up, when to freeze, and when to bolt like a rabbit.”

“And when we’re trapped in a corner,” said Wendy, only vaguely following, “it tells us to fight. Fight or flight. Freeze or appease. Instinct. Adrenaline.”

“The Beast,” said Kaiser. “You’re learning. But you’ve been smart so far. Mostly. Let’s see if that keeps up. If you are, you’ll walk away from this intact.”

“I thought walking away wasn’t an option.”

“Intact, I said. You won’t walk away the same either way. No matter what.”

But even though the world was dark down here, and even though some kind of supernatural monster led her into his den of criminals, Wendy did not feel afraid any more. The atmosphere hushed her, but not out of fear. Instead, it felt pregnant with something she knew her feeble human mind couldn’t grasp.

She didn’t ask where they were going. She’d find out soon enough.

Far away, she heard running water. It echoed off the walls, a distant roar.

“There’s something not many people know about the subway,” said Kaiser. As they walked along the tiled corridor she saw he didn’t look like an old man any more. Had she imagined it? “It’s under the water table. It’s flooding. New York City is constantly flooding. There are pumps working 24/7 in the network to keep it clear of water. This shopping centre was build underneath the water table, too — but the architect building it fucked up. They underestimated how many pumps they’d need to keep it running, and how many points of entry there’d be for water. The 1970s recession hit. It was too expensive to keep it going. So they abandoned the shopping centre. They run pumps elsewhere so that the water doesn’t get into the subway. Sometimes the water goes up, sometimes it goes down. Depends on how many of the subway pumps go out of order at any given time. And the tide, too.”

Wendy saw a light at the end of the tunnel. A gentle, welcome glow.

“And this place,” said Kaiser, “became our home. Our Warren.”

They turned a corner.

It was as Kaiser described — a flooded shopping centre. From the top level Wendy could see a couple more levels down, and far away she heard the rush of water. But the water two levels below was still, and dark, and black. Only the faintest ripples betrayed that it wasn’t a bottomless pit at all.

But that wasn’t all.

It was beautiful.

The lights overhead weren’t on. Instead, yellow fairy lights were wrapped around the balcony railings of the pathway she and Kaiser stood on. Cables and extension cords were threaded through the twisted, tiny orbs. A lot of them, Wendy noticed, were phone wires. Neon signs were lit up on top of shopfronts, but they weren’t positioned as if indicating stores — in fact, somebody had seemed to have collected as many neon signs as they could and decorated every space inch of walls with them, along with various road signs and maps of New York. The wide open shop windows were blocked from the other sides by blankets, curtains and other fabrics for privacy.

“I’m surprised nobody’s showed themselves,” said Calebros, from behind Wendy.

Wendy jumped six feet.

She turned around to see two more goblin-like creatures. One of them had a shrunken head and rather batlike ears. The other just looked fucking ugly.

Actually, they were _both_ just fucking ugly, but Wendy finally knew better now, hushed by the otherworldlike nature of the shopping centre around her, than to run her mouth off about it again. Maybe it was her “Beast”. Maybe it wasn’t. But no longer did she have the urge to wind up any of the individuals she stood in the company of. No longer did she forget that death was here beside her, and play with it unwittingly.

Kaiser was right. It was much easier to do it from behind a screen.

“They know better than to show their faces,” said Kaiser. “I had to fucking chew a few bitches out earlier. _Congratulations on the childe!_ Eugh.”

“You make it so easy,” said the one with the small head, and the French accent betrayed who it — he — was. Gerard. He glanced at Wendy, appraising her. “Winding Kaiser up is basically the national pastime here.”

“She still doesn’t know what we are,” said Calebros.

“I don’t have a clue,” said Wendy.

“You were the one poking around our database,” said Gerard. “ _My_ database.” He grinned. It was larger than Kaiser’s, his teeth longer. The change of facial expression shifted the boils on his face. “How can you not know? References to blood, references to sunlight, to True Faith and hunters…”

“Sometimes, the human mind cannot comprehend us,” said Calebros. “It is the human mind that maintains the Masquerade better than any curtain we can draw across our existence. That is why the Masquerade is so hard to break, even as hundreds of violations happen each night across the world. You are not the first to have stumbled upon SchreckNET, Wendy, and you will not be the last. But you are, so far, the best.”

Nosferatu. That was a word from a movie.

Or maybe it was a word from something older.

“You’re _not_ fucking vampires,” said Wendy.

“Not looking like this we’re fucking not,” cackled Kaiser. “No, I’m afraid we’re just regular vampires.”

“I dunno, man.” Gerard cracked his cervical vertebrae with a stretch. “Even a Toreador won’t mind if they do, so long as you’re good enough with the Mask of a Thousand Faces.”

Remembering what Kaiser had said in the limo, Wendy said, “Were you _really_ invisible?”

“Have I lied to you yet?” Kaiser smacked her on the back, leaving her blinking in shock. “Come on. It’s time we headed to the gym. For your _Embrace_.”

“My induction,” said Wendy feeling her heart catch in her throat. She hesitated, looking at the other two.

She hadn’t decided yet.

Calebros tilted his head, watching her. He was the only one who didn’t seem to enjoy her discomfort. Her eyes settled on him.

“A lot of us regret this,” he said, touching his face, and Wendy immediately knew what he meant. “You have a choice, Wendy. You think you don’t, but you do. You can live with filth and slime and rats, but I asked you before, and I’ll ask you again — can you live with being a monster?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Kaiser rolled his eyes.

“I’ve found that looking like a monster,” said Wendy, “and being one are two separate things.”

She waited to see what he would say.

Calebros’s thin lips twisted into a smile. “Then I think you’ll do just fine.”

Yes. If he thought she could keep her hands clean, then she could live with everything else that came with it.

“You coming or do we have to stab you?” called Kaiser, by the frozen escalators.

“Don’t worry,” said Calebros. “It’ll be over soon enough.”

“Thank you, Calebros.” She wasn’t sure why she said it, but she did.

Calebros’s smile grew. Gerard nodded to her, and stepped aside.

“ _Taylor_ ,” snapped Kaiser.

“Better follow his majesty,” said Wendy with a roll of her eyes.

Gerard cackled.

Wendy followed Kaiser down the rusted escalator. Some part of her brain had to recalibrate itself, unused to walking on an escalator that didn’t move underneath her. Her metal footsteps echoed in the half-drowned cavern. When she glanced up, she saw that the high ceiling was covered in a galaxy of glow-in-the-dark stars.

“It’s beautiful here,” she breathed.

And if she could find beauty, here, in the bowels of New York City surrounded by monsters… maybe she could find some peace, too. Something outside of the 9-5 grind, and the 5-12 hustle she lived in, before she did it all again the next day. Some shelter in the dark. A safe, secure burrow, decorated with glittering trash, and creatures just as hideous as her. Like some kind of fallen fae. _Wendy Taylor. Michael Williams_. With knowledge came power, and what power they’d had over her with just her name.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up and let’s get this over with,” said Kaiser, below.

She joined him.

Kaiser found the old gym soon enough. It was empty of equipment, but some of the metal installations and the mirrors made it obvious as to what it used to be. There were no lights in here, only what filtered from the signs and fairy lights from outside.

Kaiser didn’t seem to have any trouble navigating in the dark, but Wendy could barely see. There was nothing on the floor to trip on, from the sound of Kaiser’s footsteps, so she stepped with only a little hesitation, following his journey with her ears.

“Here,” said Kaiser. His voice was echoing, now, like he was in a smaller space. “This is where we’ll do it.”

It was darker than ever past the doorway Kaiser had led her through. She was stepping on tiles, now. Some movement on the other side of the room startled her.

“Oh my god, stop being dramatic,” said Kaiser. “It’s just a fucking mirror.”

“I can’t see shit from _fuck_ in here,” Wendy snapped.

Kaiser groaned. “God, no wonder they made _me_ do this. You’re just like me. I fucking hate it.”

“God, I hope not.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“What? No, I mean, I hope I’m not like you!”

“Oh thank _fuck_.”

Wendy laughed, nervously. She couldn’t help it.

Kaiser turned to face her.

“So, uh,” Wendy said, nerves making the hair on her arms stand up. Suddenly, something made her feel like a rat in a trap. “What happens now?”

“Now,” said Kaiser, “I bite you.”

“What, really?” said Wendy.

“Nope!” said a voice from behind her. “Surprise!”

Wendy didn’t have time to so much as startle before someone grabbed her and sank his teeth into her neck. She yelped in shock, and then went limp.

“Gerard!” The last thing Wendy ever heard was Kaiser’s yells. “You asshole!”

-o-

 **FROM:** admin@SchreckNET.nod

 **TO:** nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **SUBJECT:** Looks like it’s final.

It’s not like she can’t learn from Kaiser as much as she likes. It’s not like he’ll never, ever get to talk to her. She’ll be in the same damn Warren as him the whole time.

Gerard

* * *

**FROM:** nosferatu@nypc.nod

 **TO:** admin@SchreckNET.nod

 **SUBJECT:** RE: Looks like it’s final.

Really, Gerard?

Really?

C

* * *

**FROM:** mrxlttn@SchreckNET.nod

 **TO:** wilhelmaugustus@SchreckNET.nod

 **SUBJECT:** So…

… Can I keep your email address?

Wendy

* * *

**FROM:** wilhelmaugustus@SchreckNET.nod

 **TO:** mrxlttn@SchreckNET.nod

 **SUBJECT:** RE: So…

Go fuck yourself.

Kaiser

* * *

-o-

Wendy shut her laptop. One of them, anyway. She had a few of them now. “Earlier, I tried to send Kaiser that program I made.”

“Which one?” said her sire, who was under one of the desks in the computer room, fucking around with cables.

“The game I made. The one that teaches other Nossies about cyber security,” said Wendy. “I need him to beta test it for us, because I don’t know if the learning curve is too steep, but he refused to download it.”

“Yeah. Can’t imagine why.”

Wendy sat back in her computer chair, watching as Gerard surfaced from under the desk, frowning at a CRT monitor. “Think it’s dead,” he grunted.

“Should I tell him?” said Wendy.

“Tell him what?” Gerard started pulling cables out of the monitor.

“That as I have admin access, I can reset his password and wander into his account whenever he likes.”

“Never do that,” said Gerard, flashing her a grin. “We’re the only two Kindred in the world with admin access to SchreckNET. Nobody, not even Calebros, not even Jan fucking Pieterzoon and Hardestadt, knows we’re able to do that.” He started hauling the monitor away. “Put a keylogger in every email program update that they install to their computers through NozHub, and we don’t even need to reset the passwords. They’d notice if we told them they had to change their passwords back, you see. So we’ve gotta be subtle.”

“Huh,” said Wendy, impressed. “And Kaiser’s supposed to be the intel expert.”

“Let’s just allow him to think that.” Gerard dumped the monitor by the door. He straightened up, cracking his back.

“So,” said Wendy, cheerfully, “when can we get the rest of the Camarilla signed up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But Dusty, isn't Kaiser supposed to be Wendy's sire? You've been talking for MONTHS on tumblr like he was!"
> 
> Yeah, he was... until I was editing chapter four only a few days ago, came over to tinker with this chapter a bit, and Gerard just 
> 
> fuckign. 
> 
> did that.
> 
> And then sprung the last bit on me.
> 
> You sneaky BASTARD, Gerard.
> 
> I've been Jyhad'd by a goddamn vampire, I don't believe this.

**Author's Note:**

> As long as you're not all-out flaming or being a bigot, you're welcome to say anything about what you think about this fic in the comments, including reactions, typos, concrit, any unclear parts, etc. All I ask is that you say what you liked, too, but you don't have to!


End file.
